Kind of Good
by sheppythevolus
Summary: Alternate season 9. Metatron just slammed the Pearly Gates, expelling every angel from heaven. In an added twist Dean stopped Sam from shutting the gates of hell. Now there is a war on two fronts and Team Free Will is caught in the middle. Less Sam and Dean, more Megstiel. M to be safe.
1. Prologue

**So, I've organized this a bit. I never should have uploaded it in two parts, it didn't make sense.**

**What follows is four sequences that come before the actual story, optional but recommended reading.**

* * *

_"Don't you ever miss the Apocalypse?"_

_"No, why would I miss the End of Days?"_

_"I miss the simplicity. I was bad. You were good. Life was easier. Now it's all so messy. I'm kind of good, which sucks. And you're kind of bad - which is actually all manner of hot."_

* * *

**Prologue Part 1: Yellow Eyes**

* * *

**May 16th 1860, Fort Collins Encampment, Colorado.**

"I finally found the bastard."

Samuel Colt came back sober - which only ever meant one thing, he had some new doomed idea for finding old yellow eyes.

It was a warm fall day on the Fort Collins camp in Colorado. The place was a gold mine for a hunter who was looking for work because every single man at this camp was superstitious, dumb and loved to hear their own voice. Most of these folks were here for the gold which had been turning up in pails for the last few months, everyone who didn't have or didn't want a job within a few hundred miles was making their way here. This influx of people in a previously sparse area meant a lot of land had to be 'procured' from the local Indians.

Samuel was drawn to this area by some old 'Fifty-Niner' because people were disappearing. Anywhere from a couple boys from the big city looking for a quick buck to an entire farming community that abandoned their land in the hopes of striking it rich. Of course, the first thing that came to everyone's mind was skin walkers or demons and Samuel was eager to oblige them. Elisabeth was certain that the disappearances could be more easily and rationally explained as people who are unfamiliar and unaccustomed to the area getting lost or straying too far into Indian land.

Elisabeth and her father had scoured the land for something that would explain the disappearances, the first thing on Samuel's mind was of course demons. His theory was disproven when they followed a tailor and his family to the river and back – they were attacked by the local Indians, evidently they didn't actually plan to sit back and watch while their lands were inundated with Americans. The reality of the situation was that it wasn't a hunter's problem - and judging by the increased military presence even over the short term of their stay the situation was clearly destined to escalate until a full scale war breaks out between the two sides.

"That's what you said two months ago." Elisabeth was getting over her blind devotion to her father at this point, she turned twenty a couple weeks before but, neither she nor her father remembered the date. It wasn't long ago that she would jump at the chance to try and find the demon that killed her mother but, after five years of shoddy leads and grueling travel schedules she was just about fed up. Fantasies of running away to just about anywhere else were frequent but, despite his irrationality she still cared for the old man.

"This time is different." He rebutted.

She scoffed to herself, recalling hearing the line a dozen times before. She used to think it was confidence in his voice but, now that she was older she recognized the difference between confidence and indignant pigheadedness.

"I almost had to drown the black-eyed bastard in holy water but, he gave in."

If he had said 'salt funneled half to death' she would have heard that a dozen or more times, too.

"Says yellow eyes is headed to Sunrise, Wyoming."

The demons were interested in inciting whatever conflict they could amongst the Indians and the settlers, there wasn't room for debate on that issue. It was in their best interests to create conflict because they needed to create more demons, after all. Apparently Samuel had managed to catch one of them off guard.

"We have already been to Wyoming and he wasn't there." It wasn't a fond memory of hers, Samuel not only managed to piss off every lawman in the county but, yellow-eyes never showed. She debated trying to reason with him, to tell him that he needs to give up this mad crusade before he gets them both killed but, if he didn't listen the last fifty times why would he start now?

Samuel wasn't discouraged by her protest. "But, not Sunrise. Pack your stuff, we ride in twenty."

* * *

"We came all this way just for this?" Elisabeth remarked on the old barn in front of them. It looked like it tried to burn down and then failed, like the fire consumed the dirty, old wood until it simply couldn't subsist on it any longer and died. The sliding door was the only feature of the morass of old timber still intact in any mentionable way. The air was smoky and thick, it smelled of wood smoke with just a hint of gunpowder.

"I don't understand, the map led me right to this spot." He first reached into his jacket for a map but, when he felt his flask he reconsidered. "Maybe we're just early. I say dig in and wait." He unscrewed the cap and took a long swig of the warm, dark rye.

"There isn't much sulfur in the air, and I'm pretty sure what I smell is gun powder. I don't suppose anything I say will persuade you that we're wasting time out here?"

He looked down at her with narrowed eyes but didn't speak.

They left the horses out of sight and started to set up the usual battery of traps. They couldn't risk using their holy water because they wouldn't be any more water for miles but, they had plenty of salt and chalk.

Elisabeth pointed out the loft to Samuel, who agreed it would be the best place available to lay low and wait for old yellow eyes. They waited behind a column for a couple hours before Elisabeth grew impatient enough to protest again.

"This is pointless, no one's coming." She opened her mouth to continue her rant but, Samuel shushed her.

"I hear something."

Footsteps. Not many, one or two guys at the most. Either her dad was right or this was a hell of a coincidence. They had rode ten miles past the last trace of civilization, the barn looked like it had been abandoned since before she was born.

"Stay here."

She didn't know how to react. It had been years since she actually feared that they would run into yellow eyes, he shouldn't have been able to come near her. She clutched her shotgun close to her chest and tried to calm her breathing while her dad crept out of their hiding place to confront the intruder.

"Looks like you got me." She heard a man speak calmly. She hoped that he was stuck in one of her devil's traps but, she was too afraid to come out of hiding and look.

"You came alone?" Her father's confidence waivered. Something isn't right here, why would big bad himself come alone?

"Yes. I just came to pass on a message." The man paused. "Retire."

"You and I both know that ain't going to happen."

"I knew you wouldn't do it willingly." She barely heard him snap his fingers before she was overwhelmed by the sound of the roof collapsing. She clung to the pillar behind which she hid and looked out.

Samuel had to jump to dodge a large rafter that crashed to the ground next to him. Whoever, wherever the man was before – he was gone now.

Her father shimmied down the ladder to the barn floor.

* * *

"What is he doing there?" Castiel burst into Naomi's office. "And why am I being told to stand down?"

She looked up from her desk, unmoved by his intrusion. "There was a change of plans, Castiel. She is no longer important." Her eyes returned to her work.

"I won't let him harm her." Cas spoke severely.

Naomi's eyes narrowed but she spoke evenly. "Yes you will. The decision has been made there is another bloodline that is of greater importance now."

"What of the gun? They will need it." Cas didn't really care about Samuel, he was a brute of a lout of a man and yet for reasons Cas was not privy to he was given the talent to create a gun that can kill almost anything.

"Samuel will not perish but, we are not interfering more than we have to. The girl will likely die." Again with the even, uninterested tone. Like it was nothing.

Cas approached Naomi's desk. "Why? She doesn't have to and she doesn't deserve it." Cas wasn't expecting a real answer but, he was compelled to try to protect Elisabeth - this was probably the first time anyone did.

"Because, it is an event which will shape Samuel in a way we desire." Her gaze returned to her desk.

Cas couldn't believe what he was hearing. "For what? I swore to protect her!" He slammed his fists on her desk. "First, we turn a blind eye to the demons trying to incite a war amongst the humans and now I'm supposed to stand by and let Azazael butcher her?"

Two angels appeared at both of Cas' flanks.

She rose from her desk and looked Cas in the eye. "It is obvious you are incapable of being objective about this issue."

Cas felt them grip both his arms. "It isn't a lack of objectivity that tells me this is wrong!" Cas yelled. "I've stood by for centuries while we watch demons kill innocent people and for what?"

Her brow betrayed her stone cold gaze, she was irritated.

"Remove him."

* * *

"Hello Elisabeth."

She froze, the voice wasn't familiar but, she knew who spoke. She spun around trying to locate the body that goes with the voice.

"Elisabeth, we've never been formally introduced. My name is Azazael. Your father and I go way back." His words were soft and even. He waited to reveal himself until after he spoke, he was hidden by the shadows of the loft, next to a window.

"I -" Her voice broke. "I know who you are."

"Good. Good." He smiled wide.

"Cr- Crowley said I had ten years." She took a deep breath in a hopeless effort to steady her voice. "My soul for ten years away from you. It's only been two."

"Ah, yes. Fergus is a very skilled salesman, you see he only promised that he would make his best effort to keep you and your daddy out of my way." Azazael's grin transitioned into a mocking caricature of concern.

She recalled the twenty foot scroll that Crowley had thrown at her, the scribbles were barely recognizable as English. "He… he can't do that. That's lying!"

Azazael dismissed her objection with a scoff. "What do you say we go find your daddy, hmm?" He extended his arm and pulled her toward him telekinetically.

Elisabeth screamed and tried to grab the pillar but it was no use. When she reached him he gripped her by the back of the neck so hard it made her feel light headed. She tried to scream but only a whimper left her lips.

They were both shocked when they heard the fluttering of wings.

"Put her down." Cas did his best to feign confidence in the face of hell's tyrant.

"Ah, Castiel, so good to see you again. I had no idea heaven had any interest in these two." He looked at Elisabeth briefly before his eyes returned to Castiel. "I didn't think angels had much interest in this backwater country at all."

"Leave Azazael. I won't ask agai-" Cas was interrupted by a blinding flash of white light, an instant later he was gone.

Azazael looked around briefly before returning his attention to Elisabeth. "Well, I guess divine assistance is off the table, hmm?" He dragged her toward the edge of the loft.

"Elisabeth!" Samuel called out, he had the gun drawn and was carefully looking around the wreckage of the barn for Azazael. She should come when called, where did she go? "Elisabeth!" He yelled louder this time.

"Looking for this?" Azazael was behind him. He threw Elisabeth to the ground.

"Elisabeth!" Samuel ran up to his daughter but was stopped when he felt his rib cage being crushed telekinetically.

"Now, let's talk again about your retirement." He slammed Samuel against the wall. "Elisabeth, tell your daddy you don't want me to burn you alive like I did with your mother."

Elisabeth rolled onto her side but said nothing.

"I said." He snapped his fingers and Elisabeth's arm caught fire. "Beg him."

Elisabeth screamed, she rolled on the ground and slapped at her arm but the fire kept burning. _Use the gun, Dad, we're not going to get another chance._

"Stop!" Samuel yelled. He tried with all his might to align his gun with Azazael but he couldn't move at all. "I'll end you!"

"Wrong answer." Her other arm caught fire. "I really am going to have to kill her, aren't I?"

"Dad!" Elisabeth screamed.

"It's going to be okay Liz." He tried again to move his hand to no avail.

"No. You see, that's where you're wrong." With a snap of his fingers she was consumed by flames

"No!" He bellowed. "Elisabeth!"

Azazael dropped him, he fell to the floor hard but managed to hold on to the gun.

"Don't worry Samuel, she isn't dead. Yet. I'm going to take her back to hell with me."

While he spoke Samuel aligned his gun with Azazael's head but, before he could take the shot he heard the fluttering of wings and his vision was engulfed in white light.

* * *

"Where am I?" Samuel was very disturbed by the unwanted jaunt. He found himself in a rundown wooden shack, the air was thick with sand and dust but, the interior appeared spotless. The structure groaned in the wind outside.

Zachariah released him from his grasp. Samuel pulled away with a jolt and fell against the table on the far wall of the room.

"This is an abandoned hovel a few hours outside Sunrise Wyoming." Zachariah paused, amused by the man's fear.

"I almost had him! Why did you -" He stopped yelling when he realized the gravity of the situation. "Are you going to kill me?"

Zachariah approached a chair at the other side of the room and sat. "Kill you? No. You're here to serve a purpose."

"Why did you bring me here? Who are you?" Samuel snapped.

Zachariah drew a long breath. "I can't answer that."

"Can you save my daughter?"

"Yes." Zachariah responding simply, not giving the question any sort of consideration.

After a prolonged silence Samuel couldn't take the snide dismissal any longer. "Will you?!"

"No."

Every fiber in his being wanted to yell; to unload the pent up rage he felt at the smug bastard. His anger quickly transitioned to sorrow, his daughter was dead – or worse – and this man who had saved him had no intention of helping her. "Why?"

"Because she has a role to play."

* * *

**Prologue Part 2: Robot**

* * *

**Takes place just before s8e17. **

He looked up at them, it was painted in their expressions that they knew why he was here but, instead of fighting him they cowered. He almost yearned for it now, engaging these pockets of resistance in one sided combat. It was the only chance he had to make up for everything that he had done, after all it was his fault that heaven was divided and he had to do whatever he was told in order to fix it. In a part of him deep down that he never let see the light of day he found himself starting to enjoy it. It was a chance to challenge himself, to improve his technique further, to get ready for the coming war.

"Castiel, don't do this!" Begged his younger sister. She wore a middle aged woman with red hair, cowering behind the desk of this abandoned adult education center. It was an outpost of sorts, the battle hardened disenfranchised angels who disputed Naomi's reign were holding out in this run down old cave, hiding like roaches. Every time he stamped them out, more seemed to crawl out of the woodwork.

Huddled beneath her was a young boy, bleeding grace from a wound on his chest Cas had inflicted days earlier.

"You made your intentions clear." He looked down at the wound on his arm, a mark of their previous encounter. As he reached down to finish the kill of the injured angel one of their comrades made the mistake of interrupting him. Cas left the boy alone while he painted the walls with the fool's blood but, when he returned to finish the job the remaining two were gone. Locating them had been a challenge that earned him the wrath of his commander but, he had become quite proficient at tracking them down.

"Jehoel _will_ stop you." She spat.

With a flick of his wrist he dislodged the blade from inside his sleeve and grasped it firmly. In the blink of an eye he was behind her, before she had a chance to turn to him he plunged the blade through her neck. A croaking groan escaped her lips in lieu of the expected scream as she died. He pushed her forward onto the desk where she charred the wood with her fallen wings.

Turning his attention lower he heard a groan of protest from the injured angel. He wore a child, as if he was trying to garner sympathy. The boy had seen a dozen years, perhaps less but, he had also killed a number of his own brothers and sisters – or so he was told.

"P- Please, Castiel." The boy sputtered.

"I have to." He grimaced at the sinking feeling in his chest, this phenomenon was getting more frequent as he thinned the ranks of their enemies. "You've been compromised."

With a snap of his fingers the boy exploded, the only trace he had ever existed was a fine red mist on the walls. _Compromised._ He turned the word over in his head over and over. It was the only explanation he had ever gotten, and he wasn't allowed to go back to heaven and question her. He was to come when called and execute her orders without question if he ever wanted to set foot in paradise again.

_We just want to be left alone._ They had told him, as if he would believe their word. Every single one of them would try, when given the chance. They would claim that they defected because they wanted nothing to do with the coming war. Naomi told him of their intentions, that they intended to organize a resistance, unseat her and retrieve Michael and Lucifer from the cage. That they wanted their big brother back in charge and were willing to incinerate the earth to do so.

_Why would they hide on earth, then?_

That didn't matter. He was a soldier and they were at war. He was alone, his friends had abandoned him. The rescue was harrowing and narrow but, his brothers and sisters liberated him from the wintery forests of Purgatory. They told him he was left there by Dean, that his friend had left him in that nightmarish expanse because of what he did. They also told him that he would have to pretend that nothing had changed, as the Winchesters may eventually be of use to them.

"Castiel."

With his trance broken he noticed that his surroundings had changed, he turned to find himself on the other side of Naomi's desk. She used to bring him comfort, she would always assure him that he was doing what needed to be done and she would chase away the rotten feeling he got in the pit of his stomach by killing his brothers and sisters. This time there was no comfort to be found in her eyes, her cool glance reminded him of the guilt she often used to motivate him. In order to earn his place among his family, he had to serve as her assassin.

"I have another assignment for you."

"No." He felt the immense pressure of disobeying, like he was being swept away by the tide. Despite the pain he felt from doing so – as if something intangible clawed at the back of his eyes – he couldn't do this anymore. "No more killing."

She dropped her brows and adopted a severe tone. "You will do as your told."

It was deafening, her words echoed in his mind, assaulting all his senses at once. "I…" He groaned, falling to his knees. "I will n–" The room was spinning and he couldn't feel the ground beneath him, he could feel himself falling into the cold, inky darkness.

He had to obey, she wasn't going to give him a choice. "I will do as I'm told."

* * *

**Prologue Part 3: Sacrifice**

* * *

**Takes place after s8e17**

She found herself in an alley, gradually transitioning into consciousness as her body woke up. A weight was certainly planted on her chest; that was the only explanation that came to mind as to why she felt so utterly useless. Looking down there was no such incredible circumstance, she was just lying there defeated in a cold, wet alley. With an incredible amount of effort she managed to lift her head and shoulders, propping herself up on an elbow. Her legs still hadn't awoken from the shock.

_No Cas in the back seat, that means your tablet's long gone._

"Cas, I'm still here. Where are you?" She called out into the cold night. It wasn't that she was unaccustomed to plans going awry but, this time she hadn't had the luxury of planning. It was obvious to anyone present that the dynamic duo and their feathered friend weren't getting out of that situation alive without help. It wasn't a delusion that led her to put her ass on the line, there was a decent chance that he wouldn't be prepared for her to shrug off a minor blow with an angel blade. Unfortunately, as was often the case when Crowley was involved, things didn't go according to plan. He knew he didn't need to use his blade to kill her so he didn't – not until she struck him first. She couldn't believe her misstep, two inches to the left and Crowley would be history but, her battered body failed her. An arm broken in no less than three places was prohibitively difficult to effectively aim and because of it Crowley walked away.

Looking down at her legs she saw her other hand gripping part of her abdomen which had no sensation left. Her fingers were caked together with dried blood and the waist of her jeans stained crimson. _Right_, she thought, _you were just on the business end of an angel blade. _A peculiar feeling coursed through her veins, an abrasive solution from the introduction of that damned blade into her body. Even after months of dragging one of their blades along her flesh she had never gathered the courage to stab herself and see what it would be like.

She reasoned that staying here wasn't an option, someone would find her eventually if she remained out in the open, Crowley was in a hurry but he would likely send grunts that she was in no shape to fight off. The first thought was to just leave this broken vessel behind and find another but, it became appallingly obvious that she was trapped. The more damage she healed on a particular body the harder it was to extricate herself and this one had some serious mileage on it, the blade in effect tethered her. She tried to concentrate on somewhere else – to teleport somewhere despite her broken body. _Cuba's nice this time of _year, she thought. After a few failed attempts she tried somewhere closer. _Just get away from here, then we will worry about finding that stupid angel._

With concerted effort she managed to move herself and her crippled vessel some distance away from where she was. Looking around it was appallingly obvious that she was still in some dank alley. "Cas you stupid, feather-brained bastard, get over here!" She called out into the night, knowing full well it was useless. Angels don't hear the prayers of demons. Even if they did, he had no reason to retrieve her, what possible use could she be? They'd had some fun in the past but, at the end of the day she was still just a demon to him.

Forcing her legs to respond was a chore but, she managed to find her way to her feet. Walking on broken legs was tricky but, not something she hadn't done in the past; the trick was not putting weight on the wrong spot. The only shelter she could see within walking distance – she figured she could get another twenty feet before keeling over – was a dumpster.

"Great. That's great." She muttered to herself while hobbling along the wall to the dumpster, every step was a journey but, she was driven by an overwhelming urge to hide. After what could have been hours she finally made it to the garbage bin and fell to her knees next to it.

"Damnit, Thursday, where the hell are you?"

Looking down she saw blood trickling over the hand which clutched her abdomen, along her forearm and dripping onto the pavement. She wallowed in self-pity for a few minutes before she finally summoned the nerve to open the door of that dumpster and crawl in. Bracing herself, she slipped her leg in cautiously, hoping she would manage to catch herself. Clinging to the side with all her strength she lowered her first leg in carefully. With her thigh rested on the edge of the dumpster briefly and looked in. _Empty. Lucky me. _She lifted her other foot off the ground and immediately regretted it, without her foot on the ground to steady herself she fell forward into the dumpster, bashing her head on the lid before falling into the deep container.

The landing was rough and inelegant, she ended up absorbing the brunt of the impact with her shoulder and rib cage. Air was crushed from her lungs leaving her breathless and unable to voice her protest with a string of four letter words. Fortunately, she still had little sensation left in her abdomen, the fall elicited only a renewed dull ache. The lid of the dumpster had evidently decided she had not suffered enough because it slammed shut on her other foot.

She cursed under her breath while she tried to pull her foot in. A familiar numbness began to sweep over her and she struggled to keep her eyes open, the pain was receding which was never a good sign. Despite the fact that merely breathing was a chore she felt compelled to pray to him one last time.

"It's okay Clarence." Before finally surrendering to unconsciousness she found herself trying to regain composure for an angel that wasn't coming.

"At least I did this one thing right."

* * *

**Prologue Part 4: Goodbye, Stranger**

* * *

**Takes place during s8e22. There was no indication that I could find about how long Cas ran with the tablet for, so I guessed.**

Cas emerged from the hallway and approached Sam in the common room. "I like this place. It's orderly."

"Oh, give us a few months. Dean wants to get a Ping-Pong table." Sam smiled somewhat reluctantly, he looked genuinely happy to see Cas, but there was something intangible under the surface of his demeanor. Despite the subterfuge, it was refreshing that at least one of the Winchesters was pleased to see him.

"I've heard of that. It's a game, right?" Cas always had difficulty speaking with Sam and this time was no different. The boy was rarely in good health and always uncomfortable or troubled about recent events. To say the younger Winchester had seen better days would be an understatement, he almost looked as if he was suffering from profound blood loss but, Cas knew it wasn't quite that simple. "I wish Bobby could have seen this place."

A pang of regret crossed the Sam's face, Cas realized too late his mistake in bringing up the father figure that he had cost them. "Yeah, he would have been happy here."

"Sam, there's something you should know. When I was under Naomi's control, she made reference to a coming war. It wasn't the war with hell."

"What? Then who?"

"I don't know. We need to–" Cas grunted, the pain in his gut mounting.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm sorry I–" He leaned against the table, the exertion of sitting up was grating. Trying to divert attention from his current state he brought up the obvious. "You're damaged, Sam. More so than last time."

Sam took time to respond and when he did his voice was weary, as if recounting a story he had rehearsed in begrudging anticipation of telling. "Yeah well, I don't think anyone around here is better off since you last saw us." He paused and leaned back in his chair. "Me… Dean… Meg… You. It's a real mess."

He felt his brows raise at the mention of her. "Meg?" His thorny rose; just thinking about her put a vacant smile on his face. "Where is she?"

Sam's jaw twitched. "Uh, Cas. Meg's dead."

"N- no. She…" Cas' smile melted away as he lowered his vision to the table in front of him. "That's impossible." _She can't be dead. I would have noticed… wouldn't I?_

"We saw it Cas. Crowley stabbed her with an angel blade. She's dead." There was palpable sympathy in Sam's voice but it landed on deaf ears.

Cas clenched a fist momentarily before letting it go. "Why didn't she run?" He looked up at Sam without seeing him. _How could this have happened? How did Crowley know where the crypt was without her? _As much as those questions vexed him, it didn't matter anymore. He ran with the tablet to keep her and the Winchesters safe and evidently it had the exact opposite effect. Once again he tried to act in the best interests of the people he cared about and managed to fall flat in spectacular fashion. And that wasn't even acknowledging that he failed to protect the tablet.

It was all such a mess.

"She couldn't. If she had ran Crowley would have got Dean and I – or maybe even you. She died protecting us. All of us."

"She's not dead." Cas looked up again, he heard confidence in his voice but, had no idea where it came from. "I'll find her."

"Cas, don-"

With a flap of his wings he was back in the alley where he left Meg, his wounded vessel clawed at him for flying but he didn't care. The alley was poorly lit, even in the early afternoon most of it was shrouded in shadow, a few ineffective bulbs illuminated small sections of the vast brick maze which sprawled outward in all directions.

It was a gruesome scene, the bodies had long since been removed by someone but, Cas could tell where they used to lie. A dozen dead demons were laid low here, maybe more but, none of them were Meg. A few were killed by her and Sam's hand, however most were killed by Crowley's – evidently he hadn't ended up being any better about butchering his own kind than Lucifer. He began absent mindedly trundling around the scene, looking for signs of her.

"Meg!" He called out. While following the side of the building he saw something that he had been hoping and praying not to see – Meg's blood.

It had long since washed away in the rain that had fallen that night but, it was everywhere. There were small flecks here and there from one hell of a one sided fight – indicated by the fact that no one else's blood was present. A small pool used to lie no more than a hundred feet from where the Impala was parked, it was in clear sight and certainly wasn't far enough away from the Impala for Sam to have misinterpreted what he saw. If Crowley did in fact kill her then why is there no trace of her body?

He scoured the city for signs of her. Hospitals and clinics were the first and most probable place for her to turn up but, after searching all of them there wasn't a trace of her. There was a time when he was able to pluck her from anywhere in the world effortlessly; when no distance between them was insurmountable. Now, in his current state, she could be five feet or five thousand miles away and it would make no difference.

_She would try to stay out of sight_, he told himself, _somewhere enclosed or nearly so; clean and comfortable would be a preference she may not have been able to afford_. An alley or a building adjoining an alley was the most promising option however, in a city of this size there were thousands of spots fitting that description within a mile of where she was injured. It was reasonable to assume she was mobile but, it was difficult to decide upon a search radius with no knowledge of the extent of her injuries.

Based on the amount of blood left behind and the fact that Sam genuinely thought she died it was reasonable to assume that her injuries were quite severe and therefore thoroughly searching a small radius would be the most likely to succeed. It was difficult to keep track of where he had been, the alleys were nearly indistinguishable. After searching and doubling back down the nearby alleys for hours Cas decided to expand his search outward, to look for more distant places she could have found refuge in. It was entirely possible she was still able to teleport short distances even after being wounded by Crowley.

Almost a mile from where the trail had ended he found what he was looking for, there was a trail of her blood starting in an alley behind a stout, run-down office building. The trail started spontaneously, led straight to the wall of the building and continued along it. The drips ended at a huge garbage bin with a door on top which was easily big enough for her to hide in. What he saw didn't feel right, he knew her – she would try to go to an expensive hotel to sleep off her injuries, not a dumpster.

Cas approached the dumpster with no small amount of trepidation. Her wounds were severe; there wasn't much hope of finding her alive after two weeks, especially if Crowley also noticed her body wasn't where he left it. After placing a hand on the door of the dumpster he paused and closed his eyes. Turning back was becoming more and more appealing, _why are you out here? Do you really think she is going to turn up alive after all this time? _He lifted the door and after a few moments he gathered the courage to open his eyes.

Nothing. There was another pool of blood which was never cleaned up but, still no body.

He closed the door slowly before falling to his knees, the delusion of finding her still alive crashed down around him. _That's her blood, and there's a lot of it._

"Meg…" His voice was a whisper, a barely audible protest to the loss. He looked back at his life – the path that had brought him to this point and led far into the obscured, unknowable distance. He could come to no other conclusion; this was all his fault, she never would have had to get involved if he had just gone back to earth with Dean. Shame had driven him to forgo thinking – his need to do penance for what he had done to heaven and earth had blinded him to the obvious. Of course the angels didn't forget about him in Purgatory, he was a powerful ally to whomever forced rescue upon him – a banner to rally behind and a fearsome soldier. He had always thought the consequences of that choice were his to bear.

The lights in the alley flickered and burst in response to his toil; he had to keep himself in check to avoid drawing unwanted attention. It was unthinkable, the situation he was in, an angel mourning the loss of a demon. He was supposed to revile her, to hate what she represented – a twisted version of god's proudest creation but, he couldn't. When he looked at her, he didn't see some twisted, black eyed monster like he was supposed to nor was she just some faceless enemy. She was his friend, his caretaker, his companion; she trusted him and gave her life because she believed in him.

Standing had become a chore so he twisted his back and pressed his shoulders against the dumpster. As he settled into a comfortable, seated position he felt a wet spot on his shirt where he rested his arm and looked down to see blood soaking through his shirt and jacket. The wound that had been precariously healing was ripped open, the pain he was sure he should be feeling didn't even register.

_This doesn't change anything_, he thought. _I came here to find her and I will – she is out there somewhere_. A hundred ideas flooded his brain at once, he had never thought about where a slain demon ends up before. _She's probably back in hell, _he thought. _I broke Sam and Dean out, I can get her out too._ It was a nice delusion for a few seconds before he realized how long it took to get Sam or Dean out, and in both of their cases he knew exactly where to look. Hell is vast and treacherous, and a slain demon could end up just about anywhere – assuming she is there at all. He wasn't anywhere near strong enough to use Crowley again, and he had little confidence that he could-

_Come on, Thursday_. _Get up._

His train of thought was derailed when he heard her voice, he looked up and saw her standing in front of him, looking down at a sad excuse for an angel. With that voice which was always so silky and soft, she picked up what remained of her brooding angel. She spoke the way she spoke to him in the hospital when he was afraid, bringing back a flood of memories from when the melody of her voice kept him going. Not even death could stop her from being there when he needed her.

Her dyed blonde hair was still unkempt and stained with blood, but her clothes were clean. The bandage on her wrist was familiar – he had wrapped it barely two weeks earlier. Cas looked at her in disbelief for a moment before he pushed against the dumpster and lifted himself to his feet.

She levelled her head with his. _That's better._ The corners of her mouth twitched upward briefly but, she didn't smile.

Cas forced himself to meet her gaze, to look at her and fake some measure of confidence in order to impress this construct of his own mind. He couldn't believe the state he was in; he was an angel, he was supposed to be immune to feeling loss. How many was this? How many had laid their lives at his feet, willingly or otherwise for his ambitions? A hundred? A thousand? The loss of family and friends had shaken and swayed him in the past but, she was something else entirely. This wasn't her fight, it was never her fight but, she sacrificed herself all the same.

_Now go. Find that tablet. Save the world. _

"But, what about you?" His voice was shaky, he found himself trying to make a brave face, to act like he wasn't broken, shattered and lost without her.

She exhaled slowly before responding in a labored tone. _Sorry, Clarence. Won't be with you at the end._

He wanted to tell her he didn't want to go – that he was tired. In that moment he didn't care that she died protecting him so that he could continue the fight. All it took was a look and she knew exactly what to say.

_Make me proud._


	2. Chapter 1: Orange Streaks

**Author's Note: The story starts off where the show left off at the end of s8e23, narration has been a bit inconsistent up to this point, I'm opting for 3rd person, point of view narration; ie. "Cas' interpretation of events" instead of "my interpretation of events". I'll try to keep POV changes to a minimum. **Lebanon, Kansas is actually a town with about 5 paved roads - suffice to say this chapter is not based on the real place. Imagine if you will a city of ~10000 people off Route 36 where Lebanon is.****

* * *

The sky is ablaze with orange, Cas looks on over the dark forest in horror as he sees Metatron's plan come to fruition. They were falling, every last angel in heaven was cast out. Some clung to vessels, shrouding their fragile form with their own wings as they burned up in the atmosphere. The lucky ones will survive, though it will likely mean sacrificing the most cherished gift of their absent father in order to make it to earth. Many do not, those without a vessel simply burn away in a blinding conflagration, unable to exist outside heaven.

"No…" Cas said to himself in equal parts despondence and shame. Something deep in his gut tied itself in knots, he had never felt defeat of this magnitude before. He finally understood why Sam and Dean were so uncomfortable around Metatron, why they cautioned him about the angel trials – about doing something so final and severe. It was a trap, from the moment they met Metatron, his brother had been planning to use Cas to take heaven for himself. He used Cas' yearning for repentance to finally get the unwitting ally he had needed all this time to exact his revenge.

He watched helplessly as his brothers and sisters crashed to the ground. Dozens of points of light across the horizon and beyond rained down in a shower of orange fire. Cas had been fortunate in a way, Metatron had cast him down with the clear intent of sparing him. Perhaps he intended that Cas live as a pariah, forcing him to endure his torturous abasement while the world devolved into anarchy around him.

It was happening all over again, somehow after everything he had done he had always imagined the worst was behind him. That the pain he seemed destined to cause everyone close to him was over. It was too late now, there was no other way to look at it, he was isolated; one painfully human man lost in the middle of some forest. What could someone so small, so alone, and so broken ever hope to achieve? He wished he had just stayed in Purgatory, that he had died in that miserable, wintery wasteland at the hands of the Leviathan. Everyone would have been better off if he had died.

Not quite everyone, he realized. True, it was a brief and ultimately hollow victory but, he wouldn't trade the hour he had with her for anything in the world.

The wilderness which encompassed him was vast, he was flanked by trees on three sides and a small cliff to his front. As he watched the disaster take place over the black treed expanse before him the wind brushed against his exposed skin, parting his coat and blowing his hair away from his face. He was certain it should have been cold because he felt goose bumps poke out of his skin but, his extremities were already numb.

In the distance one of his siblings burned up over the forest, raining orange fire over the ground below and setting the trees ablaze. The first of many, Cas reminded himself.

"This looks bad, Clarence."

Cas froze momentarily, overtaken by the aroused memories of a familiar voice. He turned to face her, ready to tell himself he imagined it or explain away what he saw as another hallucination. Instead he was greeted by a familiar face and somehow she actually seemed happy to see him.

"Y- you were dead… Sam and Dean saw you die." He stammered, memories of when he went back for her bombarded him; he remembered arriving in that godforsaken alley and searching fruitlessly for hours only to find old blood at the bottom of a dumpster.

Her brow furled slightly at the comment and she cocked her head to the left; she wasn't annoyed – not really – it was a look she often wore in response to stupid questions with self-evident answers. While running fingers through her hair, forcing it away from her eyes and mouth she responded. "To an angel blade? Please. I had one to play with for months, remember? I figured it was only a matter of time until Crowley got his hands on one so I thought I should -" she mocked slitting her forearm, "be prepared – it's kind of like building an immunity to some really nasty snake venom." She strode toward him confidently, one hand on her hip and the other arm swinging loosely against her side.

Cas continued to stare at her incredulously. She looked like nothing had ever happened to her. Her once blonde hair was back to its original shade of dark brown, the lightly curled tresses were being strewn about by the wind. An ever-present impression of her smile remained in the rounded features of her face but, especially in those warm brown eyes of hers. Alabaster toned skin glowed in the sunset twilight and her cheeks were subtly red from the brisk wind.

When she stopped in front of him, an illegible expression crossed her face – some combination of frustration and relief. Studying him a moment, as he did her, she reached for his arm. In a practiced motion she pulled her outstretched hand back slightly and then without warning slapped Cas hard across the face. An almost fruity twinge of pain rocked him, reminding him that he wasn't dreaming. He didn't even wince at the impact.

"That's for not coming back for me." As she pushed hair away from her mouth again, a small smile crossed her lips.

It wasn't a customary greeting but, he imagined she could have probably taken his head off with the swipe if she wanted to. Even if she was too much of a demon to admit it there was a measure of relief in her body language, hopefully from seeing him in one piece.

Cas hugged her. He leaned in and grabbed her roughly, squeezing her with all his might, trying to release all the pent up agony he felt up until this moment. She didn't return the embrace but he didn't care, the remuneration he felt from holding her took his breath away. Her body was lukewarm at the best of times but at this moment she was a ray of light warming him all the way to his core, a delusional sensation that he didn't deserve. Her soft, tiny body conformed to the gap between his arms and chest like a puzzle piece, he thought at the back of his mind as he reveled in the fact that the reunion wasn't just a grief-wrought dream. Her thick, dark hair arranged in soft curls over her shoulders elicited fond memories of simpler times, he had to resist the temptation of running his fingers through it. She turned her head to the side while he was completely enraptured by her presence.

Grabbing her shoulders he pushed her away momentarily. She looked up at him and opened her mouth to speak but, before she had a chance Cas kissed her. Strands of her hair were caught between their lips but all the same he crushed his lips against hers with all the strength he could muster. It was overwhelming just being in her presence again, the eons that came and went in the weeks since he last saw her were gone in an instant. The delving depths of his mind that had been occupied with worrying about and then mourning her were purged. He felt her fingers raking across his chest to his shoulders and pushing off his coat but, when the coat reached his forearms and she turned her attention to his tie, he pulled away.

"Hmm," she cooed as she slowly opened her eyes. "Did you miss me, Thursday?" It was intoxicating, just hearing her speak again after all this time with those dulcet, melodious tones that soothed him in ways he couldn't begin to explain. The remark wasn't disingenuous, it contained no trace of sarcasm or mocking. She would never say it but, he knew what she meant; the cheery look in her eye as she waited on a response said all he wanted to know.

_I missed you too._

Cas released her and pulled his coat back over his shoulders. The query still took him by surprise, either she did not recognize the gesture as one of an exalted reunion or she merely wanted to hear him admit it. In either case he had no reservations about indulging her. "Yes." He could feel a small, hand shaped warm spot forming where she slapped him, but all the same he couldn't help but smile.

After a few awkward seconds of staring at one another they started to walk together, the direction didn't really matter to either of them because neither really knew where they intended to go. They were both lost, alone and grappling with the situation they found themselves in. The walk was slow, they traversed a lightly grassed path between the forest on either side, the path was lightly trodden but, none of the other footprints were human. The dense forest on all sides should have been burgeoning with life but, there was hardly a sound to be heard.

Cas knew she was expecting him to break the silence but he was too preoccupied trying to find the words for his barrage of questions. Why did she come here? What had she been doing in the meantime? How much did she know about what was going on? Where were they?

After a few more steps he stopped rehearsing and blurted out the one he found most pressing – "Why'd you do it?"

She huffed at the question and looked up at him. It felt like an eternity that her lips were pursed contemplatively. It was a simple question and yet it her pondering visage made it seem like she had no idea how to answer. "I was expecting my favorite angel to come to the rescue."

_To keep you knuckleheads safe._

Cas looked away. Somehow he had hoped she hadn't prayed for him – that he hadn't failed her for the umpteenth time. "Why come back? Why not stay _dead_?"

There was an answer in particular that he was looking for but, he had little hope that she felt the same way – she was a demon after all. She seemed devoted to him but, at the end of the day she was a survivor and nothing if not shrewd, having an indebted angel wrapped around her finger despite the inconvenience of the ingratiating process was a very reasonable measure of personal security. He lamented the ever approaching moment when he would be forced to bring up the fact that having his grace cut out is what caused all this. A twig snapped underfoot, reminding him he was absent mindedly walking.

"Because I wanted to see my favorite treetopper." She smiled and cocked her head again, more playfully this time. "I wanted to order in some pizza. Does it matter?"

Her answer elicited a fluttering in his chest, anticipatory jitters thrummed through him momentarily before the reality of the situation began to set in. Cas was taking heavy steps, swaying uncharacteristically left to right; she made it fairly easy to forget what was happening all around them but, the momentary euphoria of having his demon back was quickly overcome by the gravity of the situation. He was, after all, just ejected from heaven after having his grace cut out and used by Metatron to expel the entire holy host. The idea of getting revenge or figuring out how to put things back in order was appealing but, he had no idea where to start.

"You still haven't told me why you were the first orange streak." She said, turning away somewhat and looking to the angels falling from the sky.

She was in a cottage in Texas only moments ago, a messy encounter with a number of demons who could not under any circumstances reveal her existence to Crowley had left her with the desire to shower and rest. After emerging from the shower she looked out the window to find orange streaks raining from the sky. It was immediately apparent that something was very wrong because upon closer inspection one of the projectiles had wings. At first she was tempted to just continue hiding but, she knew it had something to do with Cas and the angel tablet.

Cas increased their pace. "It was Metatron, he told me he would trap my family in heaven so we could work out our problems – a big family meeting." Cas sighed, he knew how stupid he sounded. "He used me to expel the angels…" He looked up at the orange streaks. "I still don't understand how this happened."

She stopped walking; her face changed instantly, her grin transitioned to a scowl in the blink of an eye. "It's because of you! You trust anyone who spends five seconds convincing you they are doing what's right. You're like an abandoned puppy – you'll follow anyone and then when they fuck you over you don't learn a thing." She exhaled sharply. "Stop trusting things Clarence, it has never gotten you anywhere." She started to walk again, rejoining Cas.

Cas registered some shock, she hadn't yelled at him for some time. It elicited memories of the time he took her to a bee farm over a year ago – he tried not to smile at the inappropriately timed memory. Sharing things that interested him with her was what made them feel real back then; he remembered wanting to show her how interesting a hive of bees was and how effectively they organized themselves. She even got to see how friendly they were when they immediately swarmed all over the two of them for impinging on their territory. He didn't understand why she was screaming as the bees crawled over her until he realized they were stinging her. Even after he healed her she was livid.

They walked in silence for a moment before Cas felt the need to respond.

"Maybe you're right." She was right, there was no doubt - looking around, all he could see was the aftermath of trusting the full-on-crazy, cat-lady-hoarder angel Sam and Dean warned him about.

Sam and Dean.

Cas turned toward Meg, stopping her. "We have to find Sam and Dean."

She bumped into him intentionally. "Oh boy, those two knuckleheads?" She said with a somewhat dejected tone. After stepping back she lifted her arms from her sides with feigned enthusiasm. "Alright. What are we waiting for - zap us over to 'em, flyboy." She smirked.

Cas returned her smile in kind and tried to prolong the moment before he told her what happened – taking in the bright and engaged look on her face while it lasted. Despite the trepidation he felt about telling her, he knew she needed to know the truth.

He wanted to look at his shoes – or anywhere else really but, he managed to force himself to maintain eye contact. "I can't zap us anywhere. Metatron took my grace to expel the angels."

"You know…" Her smile melted away and she gave a resounding sigh instead of the expected loud or violent outburst. "I'm getting really tired of this cloud-hopping-pansy cut off from the home office crap."

He almost wished she would have gotten angry; some part of him wanted to pay for his mistakes. An impassioned response would at least indicate that she still cared but, this tired frustration – it was like she had given up. But she couldn't give up, could she? "I understand if you're angry. If you…" He stopped, hesitating. Goading a demon, he really had reached a new low. "I will forgive you if you wish to lash out at me."

Her hand curled into a fist and Cas braced himself, closing his eyes he imagined the aftermath of her attacking him. Perhaps he would wake up in this spot hours later with her gone, probably unable to move or stand. Maybe that would make them even, maybe then he could escape the guilt he felt every time he looked at her. He wondered if she would just kill him and leave him to rot in the forest, at least that way he would get what he deserved.

After realizing nearly a minute had passed he hesitantly opened his eyes. "Meg?" Again, her face was illegible. Not looking him in the eyes was to be expected but she wore no other cues of any sort.

"It would be easy." Her jaw twitched.

He found himself compelled to ask the obvious question again. "What?"

"To kill you. That's what you want isn't it?"

Cas swallowed hard, recognizing in her face an expression he should have deciphered given his history with it; betrayal. What could he say? He could lie to just about anyone; Sam and Dean, Bobby or even Balthazar but, not her. She was different. He couldn't lie to her.

She stepped closer, only inches separated them now. Despite her stature, despite the fact that he was looking down at her, she made him feel small, like an ant about to be stepped on. Before she had a chance to say anything he stopped her.

"No." He wasn't sure if it was fear or loyalty anymore but, he understood now more than ever that feeling bad wasn't a reason to lie down and give up. He had done a lot of bad, and a lot of people are going to pay the price but, that wasn't a reason to stop fighting.

She disarmed her posture with an affectionate slap on both of his shoulders. "That's my boy." Craning her neck upward she looked to the sky, watching the orange streaks for a moment and tracing one to the ground. After pausing to make eye contact with Cas briefly she began to walk in its direction.

It took a moment for the transition to sink in; was she just testing him?

"Where are we going?"

"We're going where Deano and Moose are sure to follow – after those fallen angels."

"They won't be looking out here." Cas closed his eyes, trying to remember. "We should start in Lebanon, Kansas. They have a bunker near there and they will most likely stay close until they figure out what to do."

He did not enjoy his revelation, he wasn't sure where they are but he wasn't lucky enough to be within a few hundred miles of Kansas. The prospect of having to be confined in a vehicle in order to find Sam and Dean did little to curb his trepidation. When he was an angel they always felt so confining, he languished having to visit Dean while the older hunter was driving. Though they had no form on earth, he preferred having the space required to stretch his wings.

"Works for me, how's your thumb?"

Cas didn't understand the reference but, he could hear cars; they were distant but, he motioned in their approximate direction and they began walking.

* * *

"I'm ambivalent about what we're attempting."

Castiel was concerned; Meg's plan was to kill a motorist. As he had come to expect, her reasoning was sound. Of the few willing to pick up hitchhikers not many would just happen to be heading to Lebanon and they certainly wouldn't be lucky enough to find one quickly.

"Right, tell you what we'll stroll over to my car - I'll stroll, you fly of course… Oh I'm sorry, you don't have your wings!" She was fuming. "If you have a better idea, I'd like to hear it."

Cas conceded; she was right, as usual. If there was one thing they didn't have, it was time.

"Before we get ahead of ourselves…" She trailed off and reached for Cas' wrist. "Let's take that bull's eye off your back." Before he had a chance to object she wrapped her fingers around his wrist through his trench coat.

Cas felt a tingling sensation deep in the tissue of his wrist which quickly turned to burning, it spread to his skin slowly but by the time it did he couldn't bear the pain any longer. He could feel and smell his skin burning, tendrils of smoke rose from his jacket as it singed away under her hand.

"Stop!"

Meg cocked her head, if he didn't know better he would have thought there was a hint of trepidation on her face. "Just a few more seconds."

"Meg! Please!" Cas couldn't take it any longer, he pulled with all his might but he couldn't break her grip.

She released him suddenly. "There."

Cas pulled his arm away from her and rolled up his sleeve to inspect what she had done. It felt as if she skinned him, a touch of his sleeve resulted in a shooting pain up his arm. Biting down on his lower lip he rolled up his sleeve, stamping the ground to distract himself. The cuff of his jacket was in burnt tatters and still blazing hot to the touch. When he pulled the jacket away he saw that his wrist was covered in bright red burns, resembling Enochian sigils.

"You could have warned me."

"If I had warned you, you wouldn't have agreed to it." She smiled mischievously and spun around to face the traffic.

Meg began to flail at passing motorists from the curb, Cas watched her with amusement. She would jump up and down, waving her arms back and forth while sporting a huge smile only to be disappointed time and time again. It wasn't that she isn't durable enough to walk out into traffic to make them stop but, physics aren't on her side - she is 110 pounds (soaking wet) of nearly indestructible demon but, 5000 pounds of metal at 75mph wins every time. Even when he was an angel Cas wouldn't dare step in front of a car on a highway.

A tall, old, noisy pickup truck eventually pulled over in response to Meg's flailing, she greeted him with her best innocent-school-girl voice.

"Hi! Thanks for stopping!" She smiled wide, cocking her head and twirling a lock of hair at the fellow.

"What?" He yelled.

"We've been walking for hours, our -" She spoke quietly, looked away and trailed off, forcing the man to focus on her with practiced aptitude.

The man turned his truck off. "Say again?"

While she distracted the man Cas walked around the front of the truck as planned. Meg had offered to do this part too but, she said she would break the driver's neck whereas Cas wanted to spare the fellow.

"We've been walking for hours, our car stalled on one of the dirt roads in there."

She waited until Cas was in position before she pointed, the driver looked away from her for an instant - but that was all Cas needed. He grabbed the man's head and pressed his hand against the man's forehead but, nothing happened.

"The fuck…" The man grabbed Cas' wrist. "What the hell are yo-" A large rock hit the man in the side of the head and he slumped over in his seat.

Cas looked over to Meg.

"What?" She was grinning. Did she just protect him again?

Meg grabbed the handle of the door and pulled - she realized the door was locked when she ripped the handle off the door.

"Whoops!" She remarked with profound amusement, casually throwing the warped metal into the ditch. She punched through the window like it wasn't there and felt around for the interior handle. After some manipulation she managed to get the door open; after she hopped up into the truck she grabbed the man by the arm and pulled him up and out - removing him from the seat and depositing him on the side of the road in a single motion.

"You let him live?" Cas reached in through the window and opened the driver side door. As he sat down he pondered the situation he found himself in - he had seen Dean do this a thousand times, how hard could it be?

"What can I say? I guess you're rubbing off on me." Her eyebrow quivered when she smiled, and her sentiment seemed almost earnest. She sat down and pulled the door shut – it crunched on glass that had found its way into the door jamb. She watched him turn the key without issue and then fumble, reaching for the shifter where the stick was on Dean's impala. "Try the one on the steering wheel, Clarence."

"You still haven't told me why you call me that. I haven't exactly had time for movies since we last met."

"And I never will. Now drive."

Cas hastily adjusted the transmission on the truck, he fumbled between settings until the stick clicked. The left pedal did nothing, and the right -

"Whoa!" Meg exclaimed as the truck lurched backward suddenly. "Wrong way! Haven't you done this before?"

"Have you?" Cas mashed the other pedal and brought the truck to a halt.

"Are you kidding?!"

Cas' heart was pounding, he fumbled with the stick again until it clicked. This time pushing that right pedal did nothing but make the engine sound increasingly angry.

After another clumsy manipulation of the transmission the vehicle lurched forward. "That's what I'm talking about." She flashed a quick smile and then her face returned to its default state of silent amusement.

Cas studied the road, there was little indication of where they were, let alone how they can get to Lebanon, Kansas from here.

"Is there a map in here?"

"I don't know, probably? Where would someone keep a map in this thing?"

"I don't know. Look."

Meg studied the inside of the truck, there were a number of buttons and there was plastic as far as the eye could see but nothing that resembled a map. She looked around by her legs and saw a keyhole.

"There's a keyhole here."

"Where would we find a key?"

"Are you serious?" She reached for the steering wheel and grabbed the key. "It's stuck." She tugged lightly but, was clearly wary of breaking it like she broke the door handle.

"Try turning it."

Meg turned it clockwise and they both heard a rhythmic shrieking coming from the engine however, the key still wouldn't budge. She turned the other direction and the key came out.

"Got it."

Cas noticed the sudden lack of power steering. "The steering wheel feels stiff, what happened?" He felt the truck jerking right and left from the uneven road surface. Maintaining his intended direction proved challenging when a strong gust of wind rocked the truck.

"Stop whining." She dismissed him, jingling the keys in her hand before sticking the car key in the keyhole by her knees. When she turned it a strangely shaped drawer burgeoning with disordered papers and booklets flopped open against her knee. "Here's something." She passed several of the papers to Cas.

"This looks like a takeout menu." He didn't notice at first that he wasn't looking at the road. The next item was crumpled up, Cas started to unwrap it and he found a pen which he placed in his pocket. "I've never seen anything like this." A pronounced bump that shook the vehicle distracted him momentarily as he tried to decipher the neatly tabulated information on the piece of paper. He showed Meg the repair bill and turned his attention to the last sheet. "And this… appears to be a woman having difficulty disrobing."

"Cas!"

The urgency in her voice caught him off guard. "Wha-"

Cas looked up and saw that they were careening toward a concrete barrier, he hadn't even noticed that the passenger side wheels had fallen into the shoulder. He jerked the wheel to the left but only the front wheels responded at first. The back wheels of the truck began to lose traction as the truck turned counter clockwise. Just when it looked hopeless they bounced over a large bump, the recoil was enough to give the truck the traction it needed to straighten out and correct its course. They blasted past the concrete barrier with a few inches to spare.

Cas gave a relieved sigh. "That was close."

"Why are we slowing down?"

"We aren't." Cas couldn't really tell, cars were extraordinarily slow compared to how he was accustomed to travelling and as far as he could tell they were at the same level of barely moving as they were several minutes ago. It wasn't that cars weren't remarkable in their own right, it wasn't long ago (to him) that people lived in tiny settlements with no efficient means of circulation. In truth it was hard not to remark on the progress of the human race – once utterly at the mercy of nature's temper like the rest of the beasts and now the unimpeachable apex of life on the planet. No other species in the earth's history had ever been so widespread, adaptable and ruthless. It was the subject of much debate among the angels, whether their father knew and intended for humanity to turn out as it did.

"Yes we are, look at the other cars."

Cas noticed a couple cars pass by and realized she was likely right. He pushed the gas pedal down further to no avail. "Nothing's happening, something is wrong with the car." _If only Dean were here, he's good with cars._

A thought occurred to him, the key was required to turn the truck on but, perhaps it had to remain there in order for the vehicle to continue functioning. "Where is that key?" He reached toward Meg, grabbing at the key from the drawer, making sure to keep his eyes on the road. His blind grasp landed on her thigh, he then ran his hand toward her knee - where was the damn drawer.

"Do you think we have time for a pit stop?"

"Now isn't the best time." Cas spoke seriously.

She sighed. "Alright." With a palpable lack of enthusiasm she retrieved the key from the drawer while Cas was still feeling his way down her leg. She pushed the key into his hand and Cas looked away from the road, meeting her eyes.

"Thanks." Cas inserted the key into the ignition and turned it but nothing happened.

"Shut up." Her eyes turned to the radio in the center console, she seemed content after turning it on and listening to the song for a few seconds.

Remembering what he had learned from starting the truck he jiggled the stick, it clicked and an N appeared on the dashboard. He tried turning the key again and the engine roared to life.

_"It's been such a long time, _

_I think I should be going."_

"It worked!" Cas was beaming. He looked over to Meg and she was staring out the front window, unmoved. "So, did you find a map?"

"Yes, dummy. While you were perusing the man's porn stash I found a map – the guy's bumper said Colorado so…" She flipped through the spiral bound map book. "Here, Colorado. The last sign I saw had a 36 in a weird badge thing." She searched through the complex web of highways with her fingertip. "Alright… so… it's a thousand miles long. Great. I guess we will keep driving until we figure out where we are on it."

"Find somewhere close to stop, I should call Dean and let him know what happened."

"Just use my cell." She removed a weathered flip phone from her pocket and opened it with a flick of her wrist.

_"Well I'm taking my time, I'm just moving along,_

_You'll forget about me after I've been gone."_

Cas took the phone from her hands and began to dial but paused, he wasn't sure how to tell the boys about Meg. "Dean and Sam don't trust you - I think it would be best if -"

"I was going to suggest not mentioning me."

Cas smiled to himself, she was pragmatic. He was suddenly glad he memorized Dean's number, he punched the numbers into Meg's phone, doing his best to steer the vehicle while doing so.

Dean answered after the first ring. "Who is this?"

"Dean."

"Cas, what the hell's going on?"

"Metatron tricked me. It wasn't angel trials. It was a spell. I wanted you to know that.

"Okay, that's great, where are you?"

"Uh, according to the last sign I saw we are near Longmont Colorado." Cas cringed when he realized he said 'we', something Dean hopefully wouldn't notice or just attribute to an unusual mannerism.

"Alright, listen Cas, we've got ourselves a problem."

"What's wrong?"

"Sam. He's, um - they say he's dying."

"What happened?"

"I don't know. I mean at first he was okay, and then he wasn't. And I - have you heard my prayers? I've been praying to you all night."

"Dean, Metatron - he - he took my grace."

"What?"

"Don't worry about me. What are you doing for Sam?"

"Uh, everything I can. There's actually another angel in there working on him right now."

"What other angel?"

"Um, his name is Ezekiel. He's cool. I mean, I think he is."

"Ezekiel. Yes. He's a good soldier. He should be able to help until I get there."

"What, no, no, no. No, hey, that's not an option."

"It might be a few days, but -"

"Hey, Cas, listen to me. There are angels out there, okay? And they – they're looking for you, and they're pissed."

"Not all of them, Dean. Some are just looking for direction. Some are just lost. "

"What are you talking about?"

"I think I can help them."

"No, Cas, I know you want to help, okay? I do, but helping angels is what got you in trouble in the first place. Now, I'm begging you – for once, look out for yourself. Until we figure out what the hell is going on, trust nobody."

"And do what? Just abandon them all?"

"Damn it, Cas. You hearing yourself? There's a war on, and it's on you. There's thousands of them out th– You said you lost your grace, right? That means you're human. That means you bleed and you eat and you sleep and all the things you never had to worry about before."

"I'm fine, Dean." Some of the glass on the window of the truck had hung on this long but, when Cas hit a small bump it shattered and fell into the car.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. The window."

Dean was silent for a few seconds before responding.

_"There's a long road,_

_That I've gotta keep on time with,_

_I've got to keep on chasing that dream,_

_Though I may never find it."_

"Is that Boston? In the background."

"Dean, I'm in Colorado. Boston is almost two thousand mi–"

"Not what I meant Ca–" Cas heard rumbling sounds on Dean's end. "Whoa."

"What's going on?"

"I think we got more company. Look, get your ass to the bunker alone. You hear me?"

"Dean, where are you?"

"Go, Cas!"

"Dean! I don-" Dean hung up.

Cas sighed.

"Let me guess, you don't know where this 'bunker' is." It became apparent that she heard everything.

"You were lis-" he stopped before he asked another stupid question. "I might be able to remember when we get there." Cas searched his memories of the place, finding little. "I hope."

* * *

"Lebanon, finally." Cas was exhausted, it was a feeling he had little familiarity with. He slowed down as they approached a convenience store, a rundown old brick and mortar that looked like it had stood on that spot since the civil war. The sign read "Lebanon General" and said the time was a quarter past three in the morning. Cas surveyed the distance as he pulled into the parking lot of the store. A sign read 'aity Inn' however, there was an unusual space between the 'a' and 'i'.

With a reluctant creak the truck's door opened, he hadn't realized before now just how high off the ground he was sitting. He hopped down to find Meg already at the front of the truck, peering into the open window of the motel room in front of them. When his feet hit pavement she turned to face him.

"Alright, where's this bunker? Under the liquor store right?" She scanned their surroundings, it looked to Cas like the general store would have to do. "I'd kill for some fucking booze."

"That won't be necessary, I'm sure the truck driver was stocked with intoxicants." Cas recalled seeing a bottle of some sort in the back of the truck among the garbage.

"You didn't answer my question. Where are your pets?"

"I don't know - I'm not used to seeing like this." Cas was still coming to terms with being human, he wasn't accustomed to having to worry about how to get somewhere, every path was a straight line to an angel. In addition, the darkness obscured his vision in a way to which he wasn't prepared for, on his way here he could see perhaps twenty feet outside the tiny illuminated cone created by the truck's headlights, and what he could see was limited to a tiny fraction of the electromagnetic spectrum. "Give me your phone."

Meg sighed and reached into her pocket. Cas grabbed the phone from her enthusiastically and dialed the number. He listened intently when it started to ring but after the first ring it went straight to the answering machine. An inhuman voice told him that there was no voicemail set up. Cas tried again and got the same result.

While Cas dialed the number a third time Meg turned toward him, leaned in close and lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. "Get a room, get some rest and start looking for that fucking bunker." She pressed her face against his, hard, kissing him even more forcefully than last time.

Cas was at her mercy, overwhelmed by the cold strength of her embrace, steely fingers pressed into his neck ensnaring him completely. He grasped her by the small of her back and pulled her in close, as he pressed her body against his she pushed them against the truck. With a crash they collided with the grill but, neither of them noticed. He ran one of his hands ran up her back to her shoulder as he ran his fingers through her hair with the other. A deft hand was feeling its way through the pockets on the inside of his coat but, he had no intention of stopping her this time either. She slid the blade out and pulled away at the same time.

A hollow feeling overwhelmed Cas when she withdrew. "Where are you going?"

"Hunting." She took a step back and slid his blade into her jacket.

"For what?" After a moment Cas realized the obvious; they were going to need another blade. "Alone? You can't. These are angels Meg and you're –"

"And you're useless. Again." Cas opened his mouth to respond but she cut him off. "Find that bunker before I get back."

When she disappeared before his eyes he finally understood why Dean got so frustrated with him for flying off.

* * *

_Alright Meg; don't let him see you coming, keep the blade hidden until you have a shot and then jump him when he least expects it. What's the worst that could happen? _

That was a thought she didn't want answered.

Angels weren't hard to sniff out; they were some of the most powerful monsters out there, she figured only tricksters, alphas and archangels had more juice. Just circling a vessel they can cause weather disturbances visible from miles around and this one was doing just that - some hideous picket fenced compound of rich nobodies stunk of angel.

Wouldn't be hard to tempt one of these shallow fools, Meg mused. 'Give me your skin and I'll make you richer than that prick next door when I'm done with you'.

She followed her nose - so to speak - to a dimly lit park in the middle of a bunch of gigantic, empty homes. _Huh, I guess no one really cares that greed is a sin anymore. _The park wasn't huge, big enough to house a soccer field, climbing structure and a baseball diamond with room to spare for pockets of trees. Along the path at the far end she saw the telltale glow of an angel, it had already found a meat suit but, the vessel was not a suitable one - or else the angel was badly wounded. The angel wore a middle aged mailman, a tall and wiry fellow who was not aging gracefully. He was standing completely still and staring off into space.

_This will be easier than I thought. _Meg was wary of being seen – the fence along the baseball diamond provided decent cover while she approached but, she couldn't shake a measure of dread churning in the pit of her stomach. She had never actually gone toe to toe with an angel before and she had the sense to know that she didn't want to.

"I can smell you, demon." The angel spoke calmly. He broke his trance and looked around, fortunately unable to pinpoint her in his current state.

"Crap." she swore under her breath. She ducked closer to the ground and made a break for a nearby tree, only feet from the now alert angel.

"There's no point in hiding." His voice was infuriatingly monotone; he spoke like he was a Nobel Prize winner stuck teaching remedial English. Turning toward a rustle of shrubbery further down the path he began to walk away from her.

Meg peered out from her hiding spot. _His back is turned and he doesn't know where you are, do you think you'll get a better chance than this? _She crept out as quietly as she could, masking her footsteps by timing them with the angel's.

When she was only a few steps away the angel heard her. He spun around and roared something unintelligible at her while reaching for his blade. Meg didn't waste a second - she aligned her blade with the angel's chest and lunged.

He got to her first. This was why she had always hated fighting tall people. It was just like she remembered, a white hot pain followed by a peculiar numbness. The angel's blade cut through her shoulder like she wasn't even there. She faltered, shocked by the sudden burning sensation and fell to her knees.

"You can't kill an angel." His voice wasn't even mocking or condescending, he sounded completely disinterested in his victory. After a few seconds he withdrew his blade and stepped back.

Meg could feel her muscles and nerves surrendering to paralysis along her left arm, she fought to hold onto the blade which was her only hope in killing the angel but, it was no use. Her fingers stopped working and the blade slipped out of her hand and hit the ground with a clatter. The angel kicked it away and it skittered along the pavement to the grass line.

The angel clearly thought she was vanquished but, after a few seconds of disquieting lack of obliteration he knelt in front of Meg and peered into her eyes. "Why don't you die?!" He reached for her forehead.

Meg grabbed his hand before he had a chance to smite her, she gripped his interior palm and wrenched it with all her strength. As he cried out in pain she leapt to her feet just in time to meet the angel's retaliation; she threw her arm up to deflect his right jab. With the angel stalled momentarily - his wrist was nearly a quarter turn from where it ought to be - she searched the pavement for Cas' blade.

Only seconds later - and with a loud, wet cracking sound the angel was mended but, that was all the time Meg needed, she retrieved the blade from the edge of the pavement and faced the angel. Meg couldn't even feel the weight of her limp arm any more, however the numbness wasn't spreading beyond her shoulder yet.

_He's pissed, he will take any shot he can get so go in quick and light with the blade, follow his dodge and knock him on his ass._

The angel didn't waste any time, once both his hands were working again he ran at her. Meg stepped out of his way at the last second, taking a token swing with the blade to knock him off balance; it worked, the angel sidestepped and Meg kicked the side of his knee with all her strength.

The angel's leg crumpled under the blow but he somehow remained upright and barely flinched. A left cross fast enough that she couldn't react in time to her eye made the world go away for a few seconds. She stumbled backwards trying to regain her balance but the angel was on her. She put up her arm in time to see the angel swinging an uppercut at her; she sidestepped him and connected a solid push kick, causing the angel to stumble.

Lowering her stance she waited for his retaliation. When the angel steadied himself he spun his blade in his hand, turning it outward and closing a white knuckled fist around the grip. She almost scoffed at the giveaway, like an amateur he was going to try and slash outward instead of inward.

He ran at her like a jackass, getting ready to swing to her side so he could actually connect with his blade. When he was almost on her, she sidestepped his range of motion and swiped at him, carving the side of his arm. Following the satisfying sound of his jacket ripping he howled, dropping his blade to the ground and falling to his knees.

A smile crept along her lips as she approached him, she spun her blade in her hand getting ready to kill him with some stylistic flourish when something caught her eye – the blade was clean. Before she completely realized that she had only caught his jacket he wasn't in front of her any more. She turned to see him towering over her and then all she saw was black.

The next thing she knew he was looking her in the eye, holding her up by her hair. She wheezed, apparently a hard punch or kick to the diaphragm made her black out; it took a great deal of effort for her to draw air. She willed herself to put her working arm up and fight back but, it was no use.

With a swift kick to her right knee, the angel dislodged Meg's kneecap with a crack. Had he permitted her she would have fallen but, he retained his grip. The angel paused momentarily before he tugged her toward him, lifting her just off the ground by her hair – and then straight down. She crashed face first into the pavement to his left with a clap.

"You're good, whore. I'll give you that." He walked calmly over to her right side and stomped on the hand clasping Cas' blade. "But me," he breathed out peacefully, "I'm better."

Meg bit her lip so hard it bled while trying not to scream. It was second nature to her now – ignoring the pain by shifting her thoughts to something else. She used to think of revenge, of escaping or breaking free and getting back at Crowley and his lackeys but, ever since she met that fallen angel it wasn't thoughts of revenge that comforted her any more. She almost cracked a smile thinking about how lost he looked when she let go of him and left.

The angel removed his foot from her hand and knelt next to her, when he reached for the blade she rolled over onto her back with what strength she had left.

"You're not that good," She spat blood at the angel. "You pig."

Meg grabbed the angel's neck with her mangled hand and pulled him toward her as hard as she could, knocking him off balance. The angel fell against her chest as she reached for the blade. Gripping the blade as best as she could with her thumb and index finger and thrust the blade through his abdomen. The entire park was lit by the angel being burned alive, his scream cut through the air like a knife, the earth shook with the last cry of his true voice. He slumped on top of Meg's arm and she felt the burn of his wings kiss her exposed flesh as they were extinguished.

"Cocky bastard."

Meg laid there for quite some time, she wasn't sure she could get up even if she wanted to. She stared into the sky at the clouds that had been forming and when she closed her eyes she felt a raindrop fall on her cheek.

* * *

**Author's note: *insert clever or witty statement intended to garner reviews here***

**I'll try to keep updates consistently on Sundays.**


	3. Chapter 2: Rain

**Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, if I said work has been hectic it would be one hell of an understatement. I'm really not quite done with this section but, I need to start moving this along or I will never get through it all, haha.**

**The chronology here is sort of weird, the first three segments happen at approximately the same time, then there is a break for several hours while people (and a demon) sleep.**

* * *

"Kevin, you in here?" Dean called out through the open door. It wasn't that he was expecting some kind of welcome but, the prophet had been alone in the bunker for over two days. After waiting a moment and hearing no response Dean waved Sam into the bunker ahead of him. Looking over the railing into the atrium he noticed that the table was lit. He had to do a double take; the table - which he had assumed just had a map of the globe on it for decorative purposes - was lit.

"What's on the table?" Sam asked.

There were red lights across the globe, it looked like thousands. At first his mind raced, trying to figure out how the men of letters could have prepared a warning system for something like this. The group was enigmatic at best, how they managed to make the bunker in secret was anyone's guess. Did they know something like this was going to happen? Is the table detecting the angels or just something unusual?

_Relax, Dean, it's probably just a weird shit radar._

Dean descended the stairs right after his little brother, holding the surprisingly light King of Hell's shoulders. "Hell, I don't know. I thought it was just decoration."

Crowley tried to yell through his gag, it was something to the effect of what sport he would play with their entrails when he escapes. Bringing him here probably wouldn't go down in history as his best idea but, Dean knew that Crowley was more useful alive in his current state than he was dead. If anyone asked, the satisfaction of having an old enemy in the dungeon they finally had at their disposal had nothing to do with the decision.

"Are those…" Sam stopped next to the table, bringing them both to a halt so he could look more closely at the red dots which appeared all over the world. "How?"

"Look man, I got no idea. Men of Letters, right?" _Whatever that means_. He pushed Crowley forward, much to the bastard's disdain, and they resumed toward the dungeon.

"Sam. Dean. What's going on?" His voice was somewhere between frantic and groggy. Kevin appeared in a doorway and became significantly more jumpy at the sight of Crowley. "You brought him _here_?! Why?" It was getting harder and harder to ignore the appearance of a pep pill junky, the kid looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"He looked lonely, thought he could use some companionship. What the hell do you think?" Dean paused, motioning to Sam to go first down the hallway. "Anything from the tablet?"

"Forget about the tablet! What's going on out there?" The kid looked like he was going to pass out, the pulse in his neck was visible from five feet away.

"It's the angels. Cas and Metatron cast out all the angels." There was bitterness in that remark and he wasn't going to conceal it. He may not have been a shining beacon of good decisions, especially with regard to recent events, but this was the second apocalypse at the hands of Cas.

Kevin followed them down the hall to the record storage room where they had found the demonic handcuffs. "What? No. Cas wouldn't let that happen – I thought he was trying to protect them?" There was another question obviously on his mind – _and weren't you supposed to close the gates of hell?_

"He was. Metatron tricked him apparently. Can't say I'm surprised." Dean motioned to the button that would allow the doors to the dungeon to open, Kevin didn't seem to understand but found the button after a few seconds of looking.

"That's enough, Dean." Sam interjected.

"What? Am I supposed to pretend this isn't the second time he's almost killed us all trying to protect his family?" _If they can even be considered his family, what's this the third time he has been betrayed by one of his brothers?_

Sam dropped Crowley's legs and Dean slung him into the chair in the middle of the rectangular prison. The makeshift prison was fairly unremarkable, clearly designed more for long term storage than interrogation. The chains on the wall made Dean wonder exactly what kind of prisoners the Men of Letters kept in here.

"You'd have done the same thing, Dean." Sam stepped back and joined Kevin on the other side of the swinging shelves.

Dean felt his jaw twitch but, he knew there wasn't anything he could say to that.

Kevin was the first to break the uneasy silence. "Alright, well I'm afraid there's more bad news." He waved to the other side of the room, which elicited another garbled response from Crowley but, Dean understood the signal and joined Sam and Kevin in the hallway. "I'm not a prophet anymore."

"What? What does that even mean?"

"It means I can't read the tablets. I don't see anything. It's all just gibberish."

"When did this happen?"

"Right about the time the table in the atrium turned red."

"Great. That's great." Dean wanted to hit something, someone, to find some monster to beat to death; why couldn't he catch a break for once? "Damnit." He started to walk toward the common room but, reconsidered and headed to his room.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked.

"To my room." The phrase hadn't lost its appeal. It was a room, it had a bed, a desk and other normal-people things, there was also a gun rack on the wall and swords on the dressers. For the first time in years he had a place that was his and no one else's. Also, not that he was going to admit it but, after everything that had happened he wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. Sam and Kevin appeared to pay him no mind and continued in the opposite direction.

What a mess. He found himself somewhere he is getting more and more familiar with, somewhere that he can't see any possible solution beyond lying down, giving up and waiting for the end. But, just like always, he knew he couldn't. Even if there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it, he was going to try. He had Sam, even if he had an angelic pacemaker it was still Sam.

At least for now.

In the past year coming back to this room always gave him comfort, he had filled it with all the coolest weapons he had found in the Men of Letters' very extensive collection. It was therapeutic, thumbing through antique weapons, he had grown as fond of them as he was of his trusty old pistol. A particular flintlock he had found in storage in the garage was now adorning his wall. It looked like it had never been fired (a problem he would remedy someday when all this was over) but, what caught him was the woodworking of the stock. Someone had spent hours, maybe even days carving out a vampire's mouth – signifying that it was the gun of a vampire hunter. It reminded him of simpler times.

A knock at the door was closely followed with his brother's voice. "Dean." It sounded like his brother but the inflection was off, reminiscent of when he didn't have his soul. "Dean, there is something we need to discus."

Sam pushed the door open and Dean noticed that his eyes had a peculiar blue hue.

"I heard you the first time, I won't tell Kevin and he won't tell Sam."

"That's not the only problem, there is a demon nearby. It is wounded but, I can't pinpoint its location."

"Maybe you've been sitting out a while but, there are demons everywhere. So what?"

"There's more. One of my brothers died. Recently and close to here."

"So, what? The two are connected? A wounded demon and a dead angel within a few dozen miles after what we both just saw? Why is this important?"

"I'm trying to help you, Dean. Unless you intend to sit here I suggest we start investigating one or both of these occurrences."

The thought of a helpful angel put him on edge, the only time anyone ever helped him was just before they stabbed him in the back. Except maybe Cas. "I thought Sam needed to rest."

"He does. But, if you allow him to rest he will likely suspect something."

"Yeah." Dean paused, chasing away the thought of the angel being able to read Sam's mind. "Man, can it wait? I haven't slept in I don't know how long."

"Yes, of course. Forgive me for intruding." And just like that his brother turned around and left like nothing had happened.

* * *

Cas had been pouring over the map of Kansas trying to find a stretch of landscape reminiscent of his recollection of the bunker. Sleep didn't come to him easily, and when he did succumb his sleep was wrought with nightmares more intense than he had thought possible. The pessimist in him couldn't help but find it funny, in a cosmic sort of way, that a fallen angel would be so reluctant - frightened even - to sleep.

In his dreams he watched helplessly as the Leviathans slaughtered everyone in the campaign office. It was as if he was there again, he could hear the people scream and cry, feel their bones yield under his blows and see the broken, bloodied bodies of those misguided people. No matter how hard he tried there wasn't anything he could do but beg them to run while they still could. The memory had haunted his conscious mind ever since he had regained his memories at the hospital a year earlier but, the intensity the memory was an unexpected reminder of his newfound humanity.

"Cas…"

When he heard a barely audible whimper from outside the door, Cas stirred and shot to his feet almost immediately. It was Meg, of that he was certain. Looking up from the mess of papers on the desk he realized how long she had been gone.

He walked to the door cautiously, wary of making any noise in a room he broke into. The room smelled wet and he could hear the rain pattering against the roof above him, it had been raining for hours. Through the peephole in the door he saw nothing but rain and darkness.

After opening the door he didn't stop to think before calling out into the darkness. "Meg?" He looked to the left and saw only the patchy paint and old wood paneling of the motel, when he turned right he saw her. She was sitting with her back propped against the windowsill, she looked like she had fallen out of a very tall tree.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, though it was definitely a rhetorical question. When she turned to him he saw the watery blood along her hairline from apex to right ear, one of her eyes was swollen shut, and her bottom lip was nearly unrecognizable. Her hair was so thoroughly soaked it had matted against her shoulders in clumps.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" Her voice was pained but, she suppressed it well.

_How is she grinning at a time like this?_ Cas thought as he stepped toward her and offered his hand. He was overwhelmed by the pungent scent of sulfur and blood emanating from the wounded demon. "You shouldn't have gone alone." He wanted to lecture her, to yell at her for being so reckless but, he knew it was useless. She was a demon, for better and for worse. It would be a cold day in hell – or so the saying goes – before she was anything but stubborn, reckless, impulsive and rude. She would never care about how hard it is to wait helplessly while she either saves the day or gets herself killed.

She reached out and grasped his hand, crushing it in her vise-like grip. When she pulled against him to get to her feet he almost fell forward but managed to steady himself.

"Miss me that much, Feathers?" With his help she stood up gradually. As she hesitantly placed weight on her left leg she gasped when her leg buckled.

Cas reacted quickly and caught her before she fell, grabbing her from the front, under her arms. He pulled her upright and slid over to her right side where he placed his arm behind her shoulder and lowered her. Wincing with the effort, she tried to bend both her legs as he knelt but, only her left leg responded. He ran his forearm under both of her thighs and stood up.

When she rested her head against his chest and let her eyes flutter shut he couldn't help but take comfort in the gesture. Taking care of her always made the world seem so simple, as if he was fulfilling his purpose. For the first time in ages he didn't care about the web of his own mistakes that brought them to this point, right now all that mattered was getting her somewhere warm.

He made his way cautiously to the door; with every step he could feel her register some discomfort so he attempted to smooth his motions. She felt so delicate in his arms; he had never considered her small and vulnerable before today but, here she was suspended in his arms, hardly recognizable. The once fearsome demon was reduced to a shivering, wet shadow. When he turned her sideways to get her through the door she spoke.

"You know, you're much cuter when you're shutting up."

He looked over her mangled body and saw her left arm still hanging limp; her jacket and shirt were drenched in blood from a wound he couldn't see on that shoulder. Somehow through all this the corners of her lips were curled upward in an accomplished smile.

"That should get us on the Winchester radar, huh?"

Using his foot, he indelicately slammed the door shut before he resumed walked slowly and smoothly toward the bed. "You're freezing." He told her while debating how to handle putting her down.

When he looked down at her he saw her staring right back at him, she smirked when she observed the concern on his face. "And what are you going to do about it?" She blinked her functional eye but, he was sure she was trying to wink.

Cas lifted Meg high enough that he could articulate his hips under her and sat on the bed, resting his back on the headboard. Delicately, he transferred her across his body and onto the bed to his left. He retracted his right arm from under her knees and rested his left on her hip. "You should get some sleep." He looked down at his coat which was soaked with transferred blood and rain.

"Hmm, I'll need company." She cooed directly into his ear, Cas had to suppress reacting to the chill it sent down his spine.

Leaning away from her, he responded. "I need to find the bunker."

She grabbed the sleeve of his jacket momentarily. "They'll find us, Thursday." Even between wheezing breaths her voice still exuded confidence. "Please? I'm cold."

She shrugged her shoulders and turned to him, tugging his left arm from behind her back and placing it behind her head. When Cas bent his elbow and rested his hand on her wounded arm, she tilted her head so she could rest it against his chest, her ear over his heart.

Cas sat in silence with his eyes shut, soothed by the rise and fall of Meg's chest under his arm and the rhythmic pattering of the rain on the roof.

"Meg?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you remember the rain?"

She snorted wearily. "You'll have to be more specific."

"At the hospital we sat and watched the rain. I had never really taken the time to watch it before then; it nourished the grass and trees but, at the same time it drowned a colony of ants. Giving life and taking it away."

"Hmm, it's always so cold and refreshing." By her tone he knew she was just humoring him.

Cas opened his eyes and looked down at her. "The rain reminded me of you. Powerful and mysterious, but, gentle at the same time."

She let out an exhausted groan. "You and your damned poetry."

Cas felt a prolonged shiver of frisson when she nuzzled his chest with her head and drifted off to sleep. He tilted his head and rested his jaw softly against the top of her head.

"You love it."

Five minutes ago it didn't seem possible but, he found himself drifting away to sleep as well.

"Bartholomew."

"Castiel." His younger brother had taken to looking at him with awe he didn't deserve, similar reverence in at least a dozen others was making him increasingly uncomfortable. Bloodlust was in the angel's eyes, something that wouldn't be easy to forget once this war was over – unfortunately he couldn't afford to address that concern. Not while Rafael still intended to let his oldest brothers out of the cage.

"Where are the prisoners?" A troubling rumor had brought him back to the battlefield. Though not the first accusation of its kind, considering over a dozen prisoners were taken it was certainly the most troubling.

Only hours ago Cas had led an assault against Rafael's forces, Bartholomew was supposed to be in a surveillance role. The goal was simple, he intended to capture the garrison left at one of Lucifer's crypts. A number of prisoners had been taken – Cas' preference over unnecessary bloodshed but, he was called away by Sam and Dean. He left the fate of the prisoners in Bartholomew's hands with instructions to return them to the fortress. None of the prisoners made it back.

"They were uncooperative." His tone was arrogant and dismissive, as if he didn't understand why he was being questioned on such a trivial matter.

"What does that mean." Cas spat.

"I wanted information. Information about Rafael's entourage, their movements, outposts, anything they could give me."

"You were never told to interrogate them, you were to take them to prison and await further instructions." He was frustrated, the fact that Bart would overstep his authority on such a matter with the intent of extracting information they would never be trusted with. It was a unit of sentries, they likely had no idea why they were posted in that building in the first place; probably completely ignorant of the fact that one of Lucifer's crypts lay below their feet.

"I won't just stand here Castiel. Every minute Rafael is alive he is a minute closer to bringing back Michael and Lucifer. Is that what you want?"

"I want order. I want the violence to end."

"So do I! You can't just wish it away Castiel. The only reason I do this is because it is necessary. If I have to kill a hundred to save a thousand, I'll do it."

"Then you're missing the point."

"What is the point, then? If we aren't willing to do what is necessary to win this war then Rafael will! How many of ours has he tortured? How many has he butchered?"

"We are supposed to be better than him. There's no point in defeating him if we become as bad as he was."

"Castiel, your righteousness is inspiring, it really is but, you have got to look at this pragmatically."

Cas was done listening, he had heard this speech before and it always preceded one of his friends turning into a monster. An instant before drawing his blade and summarily executing his subordinate for his insubordination he stopped. He disobeyed, which he could punish without backlash from him or anyone else but, killing him may be a mistake. He was running out of allies and the tide was not turning in his favor any time soon.

"You're dismissed."

* * *

It was worse than he had imagined possible. When he was dragged out of heaven by that spell he thought he was dying, that someone he thought long dead had finally gotten their revenge. The truth turned out to be far worse, he was cast out. It seemed that everyone was cast out.

He found himself in a schoolyard, emerging from a smoking crater between first and second base on a baseball diamond. A boy in the distance appeared completely fascinated by his thunderous entrance, grabbing his friend and directing the other boy's gaze toward him.

"Hello?" He called out to no one in particular. He had fared better than he anticipated, his wings were damaged but, not as severely as he had feared.

With a crackle and a flash of light an exceptionally ordinary looking man appeared in front of him; brown hair, five and a half feet tall, jeans, a sweater vest and to top it all off a bushy, push broom mustache.

"Who are you?" His brother asked.

"Seraphiel, is that you?" He could recognize his older brother anywhere, it's hard to miss the extra wings and faces, even when on earth.

"It is. What just happened?"

"I was going to ask you. Have you been able to return?"

"No. Something is wrong."

"You always were one to state the obvious, brother."

"Bart." Seraphiel snapped.

"You don't sound happy to see me." Bart almost checked his attitude, bickering with Seraphiel had amused him for millennia however, given the circumstances it would be best not to irritate his big brother further.

"I'm unhappy, seeing you has nothing to do with it."

"This could be an opportunity."

"No. We don't belong here. We are going to figure out what happened and find a way to reverse this. I'm certain even Jehoel will agree that the war is on hold until the more pressing matter is addressed. I'm sure he is trapped here the same as us."

He spoke as if the war were that simple, as if they stood against a single, predictable enemy. There was a third faction, even before they fell, one that appeared utterly leaderless. Groups of angels became feral but, with a singular will. It had been happening for some time, ever since Castiel fell.

"You're assuming he will see reason."

"Hold your tongue. That is my brother you speak of."

"Your brother never cared for his role in the natural order of things. What if he doesn't want to return?" Jehoel was a foe as fearsome as he was unpredictable. He killed his way up the ladder under Rafael and took over without hesitation after Castiel struck down his old master. It had seemed that Rafael kept him on a leash because after the archangel was no more what was left of the heavenly host saw a new side of Jehoel.

"What we want is irrelevant. Our father said our place is in heaven and no one, not even my stubborn younger brother will attempt to refute that." His brother turned to look at the last of their family falling from the sky. "Come."

_Heaven is for angels. _Bart almost said aloud. _And whatever Jehoel is, it isn't an angel._

They pursued their fallen siblings across the countryside. Seraphiel was never very talkative and the sight of dozens of his siblings burning up in the sky did little to loosen his tongue. It wasn't as bleak as they had feared, however. Many of their brothers and sisters were fine – all things considered. Despite this, Bart still had to stand there and sulk while his older brother accepted the fact that many of them still erred on the side of pacifism in the middle of the civil war.

"Hael, you can't. We need to fight! Jehoel won't give you a choice."

"Speak when spoken to, Bart." Seraphiel snapped. "You may go if you wish, sister."

She tried to fly away but, failed. Her wings were damaged more severely than she had anticipated. After a moment of looking at them with a great deal of distress in her eyes she turned to the road and began to walk away.

"Soon we are going to run out of family members, Seraphiel."

"I won't force them to fight."

"Then we will all die." He wanted to yell, to beat some sense into his brother if that's what it took. Castiel had made the same mistake against Rafael, all the talk of free will in the beginning cost him hundreds of followers which could have turned the tide of the war. Angels cannot be afforded a choice, it is not in their nature to choose. Why was this so hard for people like Castiel and Seraphiel to understand?

"That's the difference between you and I, Bart. I'd rather die knowing I lived in a way that would make our father proud than live knowing I've become the thing I swore to fight." The sanctimonious speeches were the most irritating thing about his older brother by far. All this talk of impressing a father who abandoned them millennia ago. Bart didn't know if he was delusional or just lying to himself, if their father ever cared what happened on earth or in heaven, it was a very long time ago.

"Someday, someone will oblige you, brother." He almost killed his brother right then and there, he could have stabbed him in the back without short term consequence but, despite his character flaws he would need Seraphiel on his side if he was going to have a hope of beating Jehoel. "We need to split up, we can cover more ground. Time is growing short."

"You have a history of failing to follow orders, Bart. Why should I trust you now?"

"Because you don't have a choice." And with that Bart flew off.

* * *

"Rise and shine." Sam remarked, Dean had finally joined him in the common room.

It was odd, yesterday he was on Death's doorstep and now he felt just about fine. He actually couldn't force himself to fall asleep earlier so he came back out to start investigating exactly what was going on around them.

"You're up early."

"It's two in the afternoon."

"You know what I mean. Anything interesting?" He asked, referring to the laptop.

"Well here's one that sounds like it's up our alley." Sam had been on his laptop for over an hour, the number of weird happenstances that he and Dean would be interested was quite literally off the charts. Reports of mass deaths, disappearances and spontaneous human explosions were way off the seasonal average.

In small towns across the country people were disappearing without a trace. One day Hank was the butcher that came in at five and left at noon, six days a week for the last forty years and the next he disappeared without saying anything to anybody. There was no shortage of similar stories - people were dropping their entire life and leaving without saying anything to anyone about it.

In larger cities there would be ten, twenty, fifty people dead - all stabbed. All the bodies were surrounded by nearly identical burn marks and no one could connect any of the dead, some would even be the same people who disappeared from nearby small towns. It wasn't just butchers, hairdressers and construction workers either - dead doctors, lawyers, engineers and TV personalities were piling up and no one had a clue what their motive for killing each other was. Not a single one of these reports was more than six hours old.

All Sam could think was that it was some kind of angel clan warfare caused by the power vacuum. The one case in particular that piqued his interest, however was in Lebanon. A single dead angel.

"Oh yeah, hit me." Dean called from the other room.

He was cooking again. The smell was actually very inviting but Dean settling down still made Sam uncomfortable. It was never the prelude to anything good.

"Uh, insides liquefied, 'strangely shaped' burn marks on the ground and get this - single stab wound that burned the surrounding flesh and there wasn't a single other mark on his body." Sam had never actually examined the bodies of any of the angels they had killed but, it stands to reason that any damage done before the killing blow would heal almost instantly.

"So that's what, an angel blade? Who the hell has an angel blade in this town?" Where there's a dead angel, there has to be another one - right?

"Uh, wasn't Cas supposed to meet us here? No grace doesn't mean no blade." It could also be just about any other angel but, Sam figured if it was they would have left town to convene with one of these warring clans. If it was Cas, they had to find him fast because he probably wouldn't catch the next one off-guard.

"Yeah but, you're assuming he got here in less than a day - I mean the guy has never had to navigate before."

"Still worth looking into. Uh, we always stay in the same numbered motel room wherever we go - maybe he picked up on that?"

"Good of place to start as any. Where was he when you called?"

"Said he was near Longmont Colorado - what's between here and there?"

"Uh." Sam closed his eyes, he used to memorize interstates as a kid - Colorado was one of the first states he learned. "That's gotta be Route 36. One sec." He looked up directions from Longmont to Lebanon on his laptop. "Yeah, totally idiot proof, just follow the 36 until the sign says go left."

"Alright, well let's start at the first motel he would have seen, I guess." A click from the knob on the stove rang out. "But first, lunch."

* * *

While she slept Cas had found first aid supplies he could use to tend to her wounds. Though he knew it would cause her discomfort the first target was whatever happened to her shoulder. As he did his best to slide the jacket off her, he had noticed that she stirred uncomfortably whenever he touched it.

After a few tries he managed to cut the jacket off of her wounded arm with the utility knife he found in the truck. Her shirt was in worse shape than her jacket, the purple top was stained almost entirely crimson on her left side. The top tore in half with little resistance and revealed what Cas had suspected – a stab wound on her shoulder from an angel blade. The wound was on the mend, evidently no longer bleeding but, the blood loss was staggering. He could wring blood out of her blouse and jacket, her bra was also saturated and her skin was stained from shoulder to hip.

While he cleaned and bandaged her, he noticed only two scars on her otherwise pristine skin. A large one stretched all the way across her stomach, an ever-present reminder of the day they met, but the second was much smaller and looked much more recent. It appeared to be the remnants of another stab wound but, on her stomach just above the navel. The scar had the same burns to the surrounding flesh that he found on her shoulder, the fact that it hadn't healed properly only affirmed his conviction that it was from an angel blade. Under her skin there was less noticeable evidence of Crowley's torture. Her bones were lumpy and discontinuous, the only cause that came to mind was that they were broken repeatedly without being given adequate time to heal.

It was a lot to take in at once; somehow Cas had never truly realized how much, how often and for how long she had suffered on his behalf until now. She was ferocious, tough and determined but, he was starting to see the cracks forming; she couldn't do this forever.

It wasn't long before he couldn't bear to look at her scars and had to take breaks from tending to her. Sometimes he took a walk outside but, this time he was staring hopelessly at the motel's maps.

Meg stirred in the bed where she lay. "You bandaged me?" Cas heard sheets rustling and when he turned he saw her inspecting the brilliant white bandages wrapped tightly around her shoulder and arm.

"Your wounds will not heal if you just sleep it off." Cas got up from the table. He walked over to her bedside, the side furthest from the window was a mess of wet and bloody clothes, linens, and gauze so he opted for other side. "These vessels are fragile and need to be taken care of."

"We've been over this, Thursday. Put up or shut up." She smiled coyly and reached for the whiskey on the dresser next to the front window of the room where Cas had placed it while she was asleep. When she sat up she registered some surprise that her jacket and shirt were still on her right side. Before making any effort to make sense of the situation she took a long pull of the amber liquid. When he retrieved it from the truck Cas couldn't help but notice her eyes were an almost identical shade of golden brown.

Looking downward she inspected and ran her fingers along her bandaged shoulder. "Thanks for putting all this over the crusty, bloody bra by the way. Feels great. Very comfortable." She tugged on the left cup which had adhered to her skin. "I don't suppose you found me some clean clothes?"

Cas met her gaze with some trepidation. "I tried. I couldn't find anything that had the correct dimensions so I found a few that were close." He explained. It should have been sufficiently obvious that he had no business trying to find a replacement brazier for her.

"And you thought you would stand here and describe them to me? Go get them. Let me see." Before she finished speaking Cas had already began to move to a bag by the table he had been sitting at.

Cas returned to the side of her bed and pulled the first shirt out of the bag. It was solid white, branded only on the tag, and had very short sleeves. Meg hardly glanced at it before rejecting it.

"White? That's your color, not mine."

The second shirt was black and far more form fitting. An embossed large-mouth bass adorned the right chest, proclaiming its love for fishing in Kansas.

"Ugh. What else do you got?"

The third was dark blue and had a deep neckline, Meg gestured for him to give it to her. She slid the bloodied jacket and shirt off her right arm and let them fall to the floor with a damp slap.

"Blue's not really my color but, I won't be caught dead wearing that stupid fish shirt." She smirked, lifting the shirt over her head with one hand. She got her head in the bottom opening but, after struggling to alternate pulling on either side with her free arm Cas approached her to help. "I've got it, featherbrain." She retorted, continuing to struggle.

After she managed to get the shirt on she looked up at him, running her eyes over him as he did the same. If you were just looking at her face you would have no idea she almost died a few hours ago. Her bottom lip bore an unusual scar but, her face was otherwise pristine. It only added to the fact that she was hard to read at the best of times, as her face was impregnable to emotional cues. It was only her eyes and mouth ever expressed anything other than a permanent state of silent amusement.

"What are you thinking about?" She cooed as he examined her, when she spoke her expression lightened a bit and she flicked her eyebrow – it was the same look she gave him the last time they spent time alone together. She spun her legs to the side of the bed and faced Cas. "Well, whadya say, Clarence? Should I order in some pizza?" She cocked her head as she spoke and grinned

Cas offered her a goofy smile and nod, paralyzed from further gesturing by a combination of apprehension and intrigue. When she grabbed his right hand his heart almost stopped, he had been trained for thousands of years to resist exactly this but, suddenly he didn't care what his father thought.

She pulled him in close, nearly pulling his wrist out of its socket in the process. "I've been waiting for this –" her voice was as raucous as the way she coiled her legs around his hips "– for far too long." Her hand slid up his forearm slowly and gripped his elbow, at the same time she put her other hand on the side of his chest and spun him toward the bed, pulling his elbow away from the bed so he couldn't resist.

Cas landed hard, shoulder first and he felt her slide around him; when he looked up he was on his back near the base of the bed and Meg was on top of him, straddling his hips and holding him down by his shoulders. She paused for a moment, studying him intently before a sly smile spread across her lips.

The rush he felt as she held him down was breathtaking, he was trembling with energy. Pressing up against her, he tried to lift his shoulders from the bed but, she responded by pushing him down, slamming him against the mattress even harder. Suddenly, he wanted to fight with her. Pushing sideways with his left leg he managed to knock her off balance, then he grabbed her right hip. While pressing their hips together he grabbed her elbow like she had and with all of his might he rolled them over, a yelp escaped her lips as she toppled onto the mattress.

Cas landed on top of her, looming over her triumphantly. He was holding her down at the shoulders with all of his weight but, she didn't resist.

"That's my boy."

* * *

"Alright, here we are, scenic 'Quality Inn'." Dean pontificated, as if it were possible that Sam didn't know full well where they were.

This motel was the closest one to the south side of the city, it stands to reason that it would be the first place he would have saw on the way into town. The building sported architecture that could only have been inspired by Soviet era slums, a brick shaped building made of bricks. The widows were dirty, the parking lot was marred with potholes, and it was remarkable how few of the letters on the sign were actually lit. Dean pulled up to the usual suite, next to a large pickup truck.

Sam studied the truck as they passed it. "Oh that has Cas written all over it." He chuckled.

The truck was an old, tall, heavy duty diesel, it had aftermarket overhead exhaust, a heavy duty bed box and an extended bed among other aftermarket upgrades. The truck itself was in decent shape but there were telltale signs of Cas; the passenger side handle was ripped off, the glass on the same door was smashed and the keys were still in the ignition. Upon closer inspection there were papers strewn about the passenger side, the broken glass was under the paper indicating Cas broke in then rummaged around - most likely for a map. Additionally, the handle looked like it was ripped off by a winch - not only were the heads of the bolts ripped off but the steel frame of the door was warped outward. Something a whole lot stronger than human-Cas did this.

"Maybe Jimmy was stronger than he looked?" Dean remarked, trying to make light of the situation. He walked around the front of the truck and knocked on the door of the suite.

"Cas! Its Dean. Open up." Dean heard the creaking of bedsprings inside and hushed voices, one was certainly Cas and he couldn't quite place the other but, it was female. After another moment of the hushed bickering Dean heard footsteps approaching the door.

"Dean." Cas opened the door. "It's good to see you."

"Cas – man! At least put some drawers on when you answer the door!" It was impossible not to notice the bright red scratches along the fallen angel's arms, not to mention what could only be a bite mark on his shoulder. Dean grumbled to himself when Cas looked toward the dresser on the far wall with some measure of confusion. Next to the dresser he saw a familiar little demon occupying a chair in the far corner of the room; she was pretending to be oblivious to their entrance with her nose hidden behind a magazine. She was wearing Cas' trench coat and by her eyes Dean could tell she was smiling to herself. "Meg?"

She lowered the magazine and looked up. "Dean, Dean, Dean. You've got some 'splainin to do."

"Bu-" Sam bumped Dean aside to get a better look. He couldn't even get out a full syllable. "But, you… you were dead. Crowley… _stabbed_ you." Sam and Dean sported almost identical jaw-to-the-floor looks. "With an angel blade."

"Oh yeah, I must have given quite the convincing show - you guys didn't even look twice before you hauled ass outta there."

Dean didn't quite know how to respond to Meg so he turned his attention back to Cas. "Cas seriously, move out of the way so we can get in." He paused. "And put some damned clothes on."

"Oh, yes. I'm sorry." Cas was too busy enjoying the reunion to remember what Dean had requested. He stepped aside and went back to the bed to locate his pants.

The brothers followed Cas, Dean was the first to ask the obvious question on both of their minds. "So, did you two, uh..." He motioned back and forth with his eyes.

"I don't follow." Cas managed to pull his pants up on the second try.

"Did you sleep with Meg?" Dean's voice was hushed.

"Oh." He looked down bashfully. "Yes, we did. It was… amusing."

"Uh." Dean looked to Sam and then back. "So… Did you have protection?"

"I had my angel blade."

Dean looked back at Sam. "He had his angel blade."

"Uh-" Sam was cut off by Dean.

"You… and Meg?"

"Alright you three." Meg called from across the room, breaking up the reunion. "Exactly what the hell is going on? Why am I still alive?"

"What did you do, Dean?" Cas was uncharacteristically frank with him. Dean always hated it when Cas looked at him like that, the 'we are kindred fuck-ups' look that he was all too familiar with.

"Well, Sam here had Crowley and -"

Meg cut him off. "Crowley? Oh please tell me you killed him."

"No… Not exactly. We needed to cure a demon for the last trial so we caught him." Dean saw her raise an eyebrow and look over to Cas but, she didn't interrupt. "I offered a trade - the demon tablet for the angel tablet, but, we had an ace up our sleeve – turns out the Men of Letters had figured out how to make devil's trap handcuffs." Dean paused to allow Meg to interject but, she continued to hold her tongue. "So I pulled a fast one. I was reading this contract for the exchange, I got close and while he was blathering on about how weak and pathetic we are I cuffed him."

Meg burst out laughing. "I am legitimately impressed." Her tone was anything but sincere. "You're telling me he came to this exchange alone, let you get close and didn't react when you reached for cuffs?"

"Uh, yeah." Dean appeared to realize how much like a fairy tale his story sounded.

"So we took him to a church in the middle of nowhere. The plan almost went off without a hitch until Abaddon showed up." Sam continued.

"Abaddon? The knight?" She registered some surprise. "If you two tangled with a knight and still didn't kill all the demons there better be a real good fucking reason. Tell me you at least killed Crowley."

"Crowley's in a devil's trap at the bunker. The trials were going to kill Sam… I mean, we know how to kill hell hounds now, and cure demons… we don't need to shut down hell."

"You don't need to shut down hell..." Meg was gritting her teeth, she motioned to Cas and used the sweetest tone she could muster. "Castiel, can I speak with you _alone_ for a minute?"

"Yes, of course." Cas wrapped his shirt around his shoulders before sneaking between Dean and Sam, ignoring their scowls and went with Meg to the bathroom.

* * *

Meg closed the door softly behind them. Once the door clicked shut she spoke in a harsh tone. "What the hell is wrong with Sam? And I don't just mean the fact that he is basically tripping over his own hair now. He's glowing."

"Glowing? Glowing how?"

"Like a certain dopey faced angel trapped in holy fire in Carthage."

"That's impossible. He just undertook the trials and stopped, maybe that's…" He trailed off. "Dean mentioned Ezekiel on the phone. It's probably just an after effect of the reconstruction he would have had to have done to save Sam."

"Which brings me to my next point – those two just don't get it. What do they think is going to happen with Abaddon loose? Oh I know, let me guess: family comes first. Blah, blah, blah. Well out here in the real world actions have consequences; Sam has done two thirds of what he needs to in order to shut the gates of hell and that is what we are going to do."

"We?" Cas went to button his shirt but, only two of the buttons were still intact.

"You need a demon and there's no way I'm letting you save Crowley."

"You want to be cured?"

"I'm not going back to hell." She paused and looked at Cas. "If Moose shuts the gates of hell guess who I can look forward to seeing?" She was visibly upset for the first time in Cas' recollection, her face was flushed and her jaw was unsteady as she spoke. "I don't care if they 'almost' cured him, if we are both sent back to hell he will kill me… again and again until the end of time."

"You _will_ end up back there eventually, you know that right?"

"No, featherbrain. I had no idea." A mix of condescension and frustration was present in her voice. "I don't exactly have a lot of options. You do have to promise me something – after we do this, I'm out. I'm done saving the world from monsters."

Her remark surprised Cas, he had always assumed that she enjoyed the fighting. Wasn't that the purpose of demons? "That is… understandable. We will try to find a way to manage without you."

"They will."

"Yes; Dean, Kevin and I will find a way to manage without you."

"That's not what I mean dummy." This wasn't going as well as she envisioned. "Why are you so intent on helping them?"

"Because." Cas reflected_. No one cares that you're broken. Clean up your mess. _"They taught me to clean up my mess, and that's what I'm going to do."

"It isn't your mess Clarence, not this time."

"Yes it is, don't you get it? It's just like you said. Metatron was waiting for some fool angel for eons so he could get his revenge, I was so ready to believe that he knew how to help them that I followed him unquestioningly. He may have expelled the angels but it's on me."

"So you intend to help? Shit, Cas the last time you tried to help you kind of fucked it all up by unleashing the Leviathans, do you think it is going to go better this time?"

"Yes"

"How?"

"I don't know."

She pushed him. "Damnit Cas! Don't throw your life away for some vague hope of saving your family."

He would have fallen over if she hadn't pushed him into the sink, he managed to stay upright by bracing himself on the counter top. "Why? I owe them that much, don't I?"

"Owe them for what?" She demanded, throwing subtlety to the wind. "All the times they turned on you? All the times they hunted, killed and controlled you?"

Cas tried to remain diplomatic, keeping his voice low. "You weren't there, you haven't seen heaven – or what's left after what I did to it. I butchered thousands, Meg."

"That wasn't you! And we killed those Leviathan bastards, remember?"

"After they killed even more of my family!" He paused at the painful memory. "And then I expelled the rest."

"Metatron expelled them. Listen Cas, you fought him, you fought well and you almost won but guess what? The bad guy beat you and now you don't have a hope in hell of beating him because he has the high ground, all the big guns and he lifted the draw bridge."

"So what do you propose as an alternative? We sit on our hands until my family incinerates the planet?"

His words seemed to hurt her, she flapped her mouth trying to respond but before she had a chance they were interrupted.

Dean knocked on the bathroom door like he was trying to chop it in half with an axe. "Are you two almost done in there? We got some questions of our own."

Meg huffed and turned to the door. Cas opened his mouth in reproach but she pushed past him and opened the door - well she did the exact opposite of slamming the door really. She pushed it open as hard and as fast as she could, nearly clobbering Dean.

"What the hell was that?" Dean's eyes narrowed.

"Boys, I don't think you understand how this works. When you get a chance to end Crowley, Abaddon and everyone else like 'em you don't just walk away to save your own asses."

"I'm not gonna let Sammy die, we can do this! Between what we learned from the demon tablet and what we found here we've got enough to turn the tide!"

She took a deep breath and ground her teeth together. "Listen to yourself Dean. Turn the tide? This isn't about turning the tide this is about finally getting our revenge."

"No." Cas interjected. He had followed Dean back from the bathroom. "It's about cleaning up your mess. You two opened the gates of hell, Dean, and it's up to you to close them."

Sam was eerily silent during their discussion of his fate until now. "He's right, Dean."

Dean returned to his overprotective big brother routine. "What? No. No! We aren't doing this Sam, we can handle this."

"Dean, no one else is going to die because of me."

They returned to the bunker in separate cars; Cas and Meg took their stolen truck while the Winchesters took the Impala. The day had turned out dreary, gray clouds blotted out the sun and cold gusts of wind shook the truck as they made their way across the barren countryside.

Despite how glad he was that they were safe, it was some relief to be away from the Winchesters again. No matter how much Dean talked about family and preached forgiveness; the truth was etched in his face every time they spoke. Sam understood for the most part but, Dean dealt with what happened in the only way he knew how; with insincere forgiveness and veiled distrust.

It wasn't that he didn't deserve their ire, it wasn't that he felt betrayed or undeserving of their mistrust, he was just growing tired of it. It may be the loss of his grace making him think like this but, more than anything he wanted to be free of it all, to be able to leave the ugliness of the past behind and move on. That was something he could never do with them, something they would never let him do.

"Do you think they will let me gut Crowley?"

It was as if she could hear him, as if she was uncomfortable with how fondly he had begun to think of her so she felt the need to remind him that she was still a demon. "I doubt they kept him alive just so you could kill him."

"I don't like that they left him alive at all."

Cas responded with a weary sigh. "I don't like it either."

Dean had them drive outside the city immediately after leaving the motel, the route consisted of gravel roads in a winding, zig-zagging, sometimes circling pattern. Cas recognized the technique; Dean wanted to see if they were being followed. Or else he didn't want them following along on their map.

It was a strange situation he found himself in. Driving a demon to the hidden stronghold of a dead order of hunters to get revenge on an angel who slammed the Pearly Gates shut. Above all he found himself running over and over in his head how Sam and Dean could justify not finishing the trials, their suicidal need to keep one another alive. The boys were wrought with character flaws, its true but, it wasn't like they were the only ones who screwed up that day. So many people would die before he had a chance to even try to make things right.

"Something wrong Clarence?"

Cas wrested his gaze from the Impala's tail lights and looked over to her. "What?"

"I can hear you arguing with yourself from here." Her eyes were closed, her face a practiced mask of contentment but, it was her neck that gave her away. Tension, irritation - with him most likely.

"I find that unlikely." He deflected.

She sighed. "Fine."

After a moment he gave in. "It's just, everything. I feel like I'm losing it again, the world is at the brink but, this time I don't think there is a damned thing I can do about it."

Her jaw twitched. "Don't you dare. Don't you fucking dare start feeling sorry for yourself again or I'll beat it out of you. You fucked up. People died. Deal with it."

Cas decided it was best to remain silent, hopefully she would simmer down.

"You three sure were in a hurry to get back to this bunker."

"This bunker was used by the men of letters – they wer-"

"I know them." She interrupted, clearly disinterested in the story. "I thought Abaddon snuffed them out decades ago."

"No, not entirely. The bunker was their secret weapon – it's hidden, protected from all supernatural beings and it contains every rare object and spell ingredient they ever encountered. I'm certain with their resources we can find a way to put all this back in order."

"Hmm, so you're saying that if someone were trying to get on the new Queen of Hell's good side they should hypothetically…" She smiled and turned to Cas but, he wasn't amused. "Oh lighten up, I was only joking."

"Your sense of humor is crude."

She returned to facing forward before responding. "You love it."

When they finally arrived Cas parked the truck a few feet to the side of the Impala, he couldn't help but notice that the lot was incongruously out in the open for a secret lair. Fortunately, the bunker was still a dozen miles from anywhere even the most hopelessly lost would stumble upon.

The air was thin and rich, a full breath left him tingling with energy. The entrance to the bunker was very nondescript, a brick building devoid of insignia or title. He wondered if it was intentional, when the Men of Letters chose this place to locate their stronghold. They did battle with monsters, saw the worst the world had to offer and yet chose to locate themselves in a quiet corner of the nearly endless boreal forest.

"So what's the deal? I just walk in?" She asked from the other side of the vehicle. Cas craned his neck over the front of the truck as he made his way around, she had directed the question to Sam.

"Crowley got in easily enough, we carried him in." Sam replied, Dean had already made his way to the front door of the bunker and was out of earshot.

Cas found his way to her side while they walked over to the bunker's entrance. Dean was having difficulty with the lock on the door but, with a labored grunt he managed to twist the lock and body check the door open. As Cas' attention was fixed forward Meg bumped into him, knocking him off balance somewhat. As he steadied himself he heard Meg snicker.

"Well, here goes nothing." She muttered as she approached the threshold. Cas stood back as she took the last step through the door.

"Meg?" She had frozen mid-stride.

"Well, this is annoying. Now what?" Taking a step back she appeared to be free of whatever held her back. The bunker seemed to work as a reverse devil's trap.

"Uh, Crowley was in chains. Maybe that's it." Sam guessed, Dean had already entered the bunker and was out of sight. "Something about the inscriptions I guess?"

"I have another idea." Cas grabbed Meg's wrist and pulled gently toward the door.

Meg opened her mouth to protest but, instead acquiesced to Cas' method. She pulled in close and they stepped through the front door together. He felt a measure of resistance, like she was trying to pull them the other direction but, he managed to tug her in without much difficulty.

"Huh." She remarked, looking down at Cas' hand which still held a firm grip on her wrist.

"It's perfect." Cas smiled to himself. "No demon would ever think of that." They both looked into the bunker at the same time.

"Nice digs." Meg commented, she dragged her fingers along a chess table by the entrance and looked out over the balcony.

"Dean's nesting."

Meg and Cas exchanged similarly baffled expressions as they approached the stairs, following the younger Winchester down into the bunker.

"I want to see him."

They stood around the table in the vestibule. Cas and Meg on one side, Dean on the other and Sam awkwardly trying to find a middle ground. Cas had been studying the table, on it was a map of the world splashed with red dots.

"Hell no." Dean's stance was defensive right out of the gate, his hands were preemptively locked in fists.

"I'm sorry, do you think I was asking? That smarmy dick has a lot to answer for – and I intend to carve it out of him." The way she smiled made Cas very uncomfortable, she surveyed and then disregarded Dean's very evident no-nonsense posture. "You boys owe me."

"You're not carving anything out of anyone." Cas tensed up instinctively; he tried to be diplomatic, levelling his voice and trying to isolate her, he knew she and Dean got along like cats in a bag.

Her smile was replaced by a furious scowl. "Your pets are harboring the bastard who hunted me, tortured me and tried to kill me! You're insane if you think you can keep me from him." Her tone was more reserved than Cas was expecting, with any luck she was trying to control herself.

"Meg. You can't." Cas knew this wasn't going to end well, despite how calm she seemed in the car, once she got a whiff of Crowley her demeanor changed.

She huffed and started to yell but, before a word left her mouth she stopped herself and instead spoke with barely veiled anger. "I want to see him."

"No. You're staying on the other side of the building from him." Dean spoke before Cas had a chance, equal parts fear and mistrust on his part just cost Cas a peaceful resolution. The older hunter was clearly ready for a fight, his knuckles were white and his face reddened.

Sam spoke next. "Listen Meg, you're not the only person here who-" Cas panicked, he slapped his arm across Sam's chest in an attempt to make him stop. Sam looked down at Cas and promptly disregarded his warning. " – who wants Crowley dead so, get in line."

In a heartbeat she went from angry to livid. "Get in line? Get in Line! Do you have any idea how Crowley treats his prisoners?"

Cas approached her and tried to force her to look at him instead of the Winchesters. He stepped in front of her, put an arm on her shoulder and looked her in the eyes. "We need him, Meg. Alive."

She pushed him backward, hard. "Why? So you can use him again? Because last time turned out so well for everyone?" When she looked up at him he saw fire in her narrowed eyes. "I want to see him." She spoke severely.

"We're not leaving you alone with him." Sam was guarded but, he clearly didn't have the same level of conviction to keeping Crowley alive as Dean.

"Yes, you are."

He felt his blood run cold as she grinned. Before he had a chance to say anything she was gone.

"Shit!" Dean yelled. He and Sam took off running at the same time. Cas hesitated for a few seconds before following.

There was a cacophonous clatter of metal on metal, apparently she had found the dungeon.

"Ah!" They heard Crowley cry out.

The corridor wasn't long, it took maybe thirty seconds to get there but, every second was more than enough time for Meg to rip him apart.

"Meg! Stop!" Sam yelled while running.

After what felt like minutes they reached the door of the record storage room where Crowley was being held. The room looked like it was hit with a tornado, one of the shelving units that bisected the room was uprooted and smashed; paper and envelopes were strewn everywhere. The shelves concealing the dungeon were ripped from their rails and crushed against another unit across the room. They saw Meg standing confidently and holding out an arm aimed at Crowley. Crowley was suspended in the air, his face was bright red and twisted with pain, blood seeped from his mouth and nose.

"Meg!" Dean called out.

She turned to them and narrowed her eyes for a moment before lifting her other arm and with a flick of her wrist the door slammed shut before they could enter.

Sam threw himself at the door to no avail. "Stop! We need him!" He yelled while pounded at the door with his fist.

"Now, Crowley." She spoke slowly, almost drawling, she was savoring the moment. "It's finally my turn to show you all the fun things Alistair taught me." She squeezed her hand into a fist, squeezing Crowley from the inside telekinetically.

"St- stop!" Crowley spat out the plea between bouts of choking on his own blood.

On the other side of the door Cas pushed Sam aside.

"Stop? Oh, I'm just getting started." She smiled.

"Meg!"

She heard Cas outside the door.

"Meg! Let me in!"

After a moment's contemplation she released the door.

Cas pushed the door and it yielded, he opened it and stepped inside. Sam tried to slide himself in after Cas but, Meg slammed the door on him, pushing him back into the hall.

"Can you believe it Clarence? After all these years, the tables are finally turned." She turned to face him, a chilling smile crossed her lips as she spoke. "This is going to be so much fun." Her eyes were completely black, the swirling abyss reflecting the pain and anger of a victim of centuries of relentless torture.

The fear he felt was entirely new. He was always wary of her temper but, this was on another scale. "Meg, stop this." His voice waivered despite willing it not to.

"Stop?!" She turned back to Crowley. "I'm going to rip him apart, Cas. I'm going to make him pay for everything he did to us."

"No. You can't." He approached her, wary of her precarious state.

"That's where you're wrong Cas." She lifted her arm, Crowley rose until the shackles holding him down went taught.

Cas' mind was racing, _how do you defuse a demon who has finally got the chance to kill her worst enemy?_

"Remember what happened last time we were hiding from angels? When you killed those demons it was like a beacon to them. Those were just grunts - what kind of a signal do you think killing the king of hell will send?"

"Please." It was Crowley doing the pleading. "Let's make a deal. I– I'm more useful alive."

Meg threw her head back, laughing uproariously. "You're not getting off that easy Crowley." When she squeezed her fist tighter Crowley couldn't even make a sound.

Cas tried to swallow his fear before speaking but, it didn't work. "Meg… l– look at me."

"What?"

"We need him. Put him down and stop this. Please." Cas took a few more steps toward her.

She gritted her teeth momentarily before responding. "We don't need his help." After turning back to Crowley she suddenly swung her arm to the side and the former King of Hell sailed through the air – for about a foot. He crashed to a halt when the chains reached their limit but, Meg continued to push him further. Crowley opened his mouth to cry out but, his voice failed him again.

"Stop!" Cas yelled. He lunged at her.

He landed on her back and grabbed at her arm, trying to force her to drop Crowley, she was half his size but she didn't even budge under his weight. Barely a second later the elbow of her other arm struck the side of his head with the momentum of a train and he fell to the ground in a heap.

Crowley crashed to the ground when Meg lost her concentration. He fell on top of his shackles with a clatter.

"What the hell was that!" She growled. She lifted Cas off the ground telekinetically and slammed him into the bookshelf across the room. The clatter reverberated along the shelf but, after the vibration faded the room was nearly silent, the only audible sound was Meg's labored breathing.

Cas was disoriented, his vision was going in and out but, with some effort he managed to force himself to look at her – to lock his gaze on the black voids that were once her eyes. "Meg, I know you're in there. You can't kill him."

She did something he didn't expect in response to that, she averted her eyes from his but, she didn't look over at Crowley either. "Yes I can. I- it will be easy, like swatting a fly." The ever-present confidence in her voice faltered briefly.

"Meg. Look at me." _Come on Meg, this isn't you. Not anymore._

"It's what he deser– " Her voice broke when she looked back to him. The black that engulfed her eyes began to recede and her irises returned to their original amber, Cas had never read such wretched turmoil from anyone's face before. When he looked at her he couldn't help but see a face he had tried a very long time to forget – her real face. It wasn't the visage of a horned monstrosity as some believe, the truth is far less remarkable; she looked human.

Hers was a soul tortured for eons, Alistair and Azazael had tried to erase every shred of her humanity but, as he suspected when they met years ago, a trace of it persisted even now. She was fighting her programming, something that he could relate to, battling with an overriding will implanted over centuries is like trying to push back a rising tide with your bare hands. Her glare flickered, and when she lowered her arm the fury in her posture relaxed somewhat.

Cas spoke to her as she lowered him to the ground. "I know. God, I know, Meg. Just –" when his feet reached the ground he fell to his hands and knees immediately, he didn't have the equilibrium to stand. "Not yet."

It was hard not to empathize with her.

Crowley coughed and rolled himself over. Meg didn't even glance in his direction while she walked over to Cas, her pumps clacked on the cement floor as she strode over. She offered him a hand. "Come on, get up."

Cas looked up and grabbed her hand. She squeezed his hand tight and tugged him upright, she wrapped her arm around his back and positioned herself under his arm, supporting his weight. He slumped against her and leaned his head against hers.

"You have a hell of a temper." He smiled to himself.

Meg smirked. "Imagine that." She rubbed the side of her head against his affectionately and dried her eyes with her forearm.

She carried Cas to the door and opened it where she was met with Dean brandishing the knife and Sam to his flank with a shotgun. It was almost as if they expected any other reaction from her - she met their glares with a look of disinterest. "Relax, your boyfriend is fine." Defused maybe but, she definitely wasn't feeling diplomatic.

"What the HELL was that?!" Dean yelled, he was so angry that a vein Cas had never noticed before in his forehead was throbbing.

"Get away from her, Cas." Sam aligned the barrel of the shotgun with his eye.

Her eyes narrowed. "Boys, if an angel blade didn't cut it what chance do you think that knife has?"

The Winchesters stood there, paralyzed. Dean was clearly beyond words, one look at him and anyone could tell he wanted to kill her now more than ever. He was also battling the fact that she was holding up his angel buddy and one look in the storage room could confirm that Crowley was still twitching in the corner where she left him.

Cas lifted his head from Meg's. "Put it away, Dean. It's under control."

"She's a demon, Cas! How can you trust her?"

"Put it away, Dean." He repeated.

Dean's face contorted and he almost started yelling before he spun around and walked away.

Sam opened his mouth to speak but, instead turned to follow his brother.

Cas and Meg hobbled past and made their way to the common room. "I could have kicked his ass, Cas."

"You're saying you can beat a half-cured Crowley in chains? Bravo." He knew she didn't want to hear it but, he was proud of her.

Meg laughed in response and punched him in the ribs.

* * *

"You need to keep your whore on a leash." Crowley barked at them angrily while he sat where his chair used to be. It was a peculiar sight, for the first time Dean could remember the former king of hell actually looked defeated. His eyes darted around the room like he was looking for someone.

"Huh, you know, we could uh, just let her back in here – let her turn you inside out." Dean smirked, he truly enjoyed having Crowley at his mercy.

"You haven't come back here just to throw empty threats, have you?"

"No, Fergus. Not empty threats. Get us into heaven or we will send her to _extract_ the information from you."

"What makes you think I can get you into heaven?" His eyes betrayed his snide disinterest, he seemed genuinely afraid of her.

"Because that had to have been Lucifer's end game, some back door or something, he wasn't going to stop at earth."

"Not a back door, Moose, more of an inside man. A horseman, to be precise."

* * *

**Author's note: Hooray! That was a long time coming. Sorry if it was a bit disjointed at the beginning, the Bart and Friends arc is important and hard to transition into.**

**Thanks for reading :)**

**Reviews, as always, are most welcome!**


	4. Chapter 3: The Pale Rider

Chapter 3: The Pale Rider

* * *

**Author's note: Sorry about the delay; lots of rewriting both in this chapter and everything following it. Hopefully it was worth the wait!**

**Oh, when I say 'breathes with every pause', think of the way Alistair spoke, particularly in S4E16: On the Head of a Pin.**

* * *

"Bartholomew, what is this place?"

His brother had called him here after disappearing abruptly nearly a day earlier. Though it had been his first instinct to follow, he couldn't justify it. It is an indescribable feeling, to watch the heavenly host – your family – be banished from the place they had called home since the dawn of creation. Without the balm of Castiel's voice, the order it had espoused quickly crumbled. Seraphiel did everything he could to pick up the pieces after Castiel fell for a second time but, their enemies had become too numerous.

Bartholomew had always been on the sidelines, though he vociferously disagreed with Castiel's methods he was always eager to impose the young seraph's will. He was a useful ally for the same reason he was an irritating brother – he was accountable to no one but himself. This time, however, he may have gone too far, as Seraphiel found himself in a church teeming with angels.

"Seraphiel!" Bart slapped his brother on either shoulder affectionately. "It is so good to see you."

They descended the staircase together into the vestibule, the church was very old but, it had aged gracefully. The wooden staircase creaked softly beneath their feet as they reached the ground floor.

The antechamber was empty but, Seraphiel could hear a dozen or more of their siblings around the building. Most were talking in hushed voices about history, the tablets and most prevalently – Metatron. As they walked into a room full of cubicles he saw a group of angels pouring through historical journals and reports on the

"Answer the question." He barked.

"It's a church, what does it look like?"

"A prison."

"I'm not forcing anyone to fight, they are helping me figure out who did this to us, why and, most importantly, how." He coaxed his brother into walking with him. "I've provided vessels for those who had none."

"What do you mean _provided_."

"I've been leading sermons telling people to open themselves to possession but, I have limited reach here. Half of those you see around you owe their manifestation to me."

Seraphiel's eye twitched. "They aren't your slaves."

"It is necessary. There is a bigger picture here."

"The bigger picture is that Jehoel is mobilizing and the feral packs are increasing in number and frequency."

"What would you have us do?"

"Hide. Gather who we can and hide. Jehoel will exterminate the ferals and when he does we will make our move."

If there was one thing they could count on Jehoel for, it was the obliteration of anything that stands in his way. He was a fearsome enemy in heaven for all the same reasons he would be a useful instrument now, he was ruthless and utterly without conscience. The only chance they had was waiting until Jehoel had made his move and hoping that the element of surprise and whatever troops they could organize would be enough to overthrow him.

"Then we will speak to him about getting all of us back where we belong and finding a way to bring an end to the hostilities."

"Of course, brother."

* * *

Even after hours of research it was fairly obvious, there was only one thing out there powerful enough to get someone into heaven, and unfortunately he wasn't terribly interested in helping the last few times they called. He had helped them before, and though it may not count for much it was all they had going for them at the moment.

The tension in the air was palpable, they all knew what their options were and yet Sam and Kevin were still desperately trying to find an alternative. Cas was somewhere in the middle, the only reason they had to believe this would work was Crowley's word – which gave him an uncomfortable feeling of déjà vu. Death seemed to regard humanity with the respect one would give a colony of ants, their only hope was that his distaste with the current situation would outweigh that prejudice.

Not a word had been exchanged between them in over an hour, and the combination of uneasy silence and the stale, stagnant air in the bunker was making Cas increasingly uncomfortable. Meg had left the room some time ago, presumably to amuse herself by wounding Crowley.

"Why is she even here?" Dean blurted out, as if he could sense what Cas was thinking. He looked up from his favorite copy of 'Voluptuous Asian Lovelies' and scanned the room, as if he was looking for support.

"Later, Dean." Sam responded, not even glancing up at his older brother.

"No, seriously. What does she get out of this? Wouldn't anyone – especially a demon - with half a brain see angels falling from the sky and take to the hills?"

Cas opened his mouth to tell Dean to shut his trap when he was interrupted.

"The only reason that matters, Deano. Revenge." Emerging from the atrium, she leaned against the doorway and stared down Dean.

"Yeah, I get that but, I mean, casting him back into the pit? How is that revenge?"

"Dean, if there's one thing Crowley hates more than us four, it's Abaddon. If we trap them both down there, well let's just say that hell ain't big enough for the both of 'em. My money's on Abaddon."

Dean nodded in agreement before returning to his dusty, old magazine.

"Meg." Cas called out.

"Yeah?"

"We have a plan."

She cocked her head. "Oh yeah? Hit me."

"Why would I…" He stopped when she raised an eyebrow. "Never mind. We are going to summon Death."

He didn't get the response he was expecting. All the color left her face when she realized what he had said and her mouth hung open for a few seconds before she could make a response.

"You _what_?"

"He is the only one out there that can help."

"Yeah, he can help. Why the hell would he?"

"Because we don't have any other options."

She huffed. "Tell you what, if you're going to summon the pale rider, I'm going to make like the wind and get the fuck out of here."

"Meg, you don't -" He stopped when she disappeared from the room. Out of instinct he tried to chase her, leaning forward he tried to unfurl his wings before he realized – again – that he was human. She was gone and he had no way of finding her. Again.

After a moment Dean seemed to notice the lack of response and looked up. "Where did she go?"

"I don't know. If you were a demon and you wanted to 'get the fuck out of here', where would you go?" Cas asked rhetorically.

"Probably for the best. She always does tuck tail and run when the heavy lifting needs to be done." He dropped the magazine on the table haphazardly and stood.

Cas hesitated for a moments before speaking, watching Dean walk toward the kitchen. He hadn't realized until now that the boys never asked what killed that angel – nor did they even mention that it was the dead angel that clued them in that he was in town. They hadn't even considered the possibility that it was Meg and not him.

"She's not who you think she is, Dean. She almost died killing that angel because I couldn't find this place."

Dean stopped in his tracks. "She what?"

"She figured the best way to find you was to start killing angels." It felt wrong to say it but, she was right. He hated to think about the fact that she had killed one of his brothers or sisters but, time was the one thing none of them had.

"Why would she do that?" He leaned against the doorframe.

"She's on our side, Dean." _No matter how hard you try to convince yourself otherwise._

"How do you know, man? Sure, she helped us this time but, demons are tricky sons-of-bitches. You've been way too quick to trust her."

"How many times has she laid down her life for us?"

"Let me tell you something, Cas. Ruby offered to sacrifice herself to save me, Sam and a police station full of innocent people – and then afterward she scolded us not taking her up on the offer. A few months later it turned out she was just playing the long, long con."

"Meg isn't like her." Suddenly it hit him, all the pent up anger from Dean's constant derision of her, constantly doubting her and treating her like crap. They were enemies once, and some lingering distrust was to be expected but it had long since become unreasonable. He had trusted Sam after the boy's bravado caused the apocalypse yet Dean refused to give Meg even the slightest benefit of the doubt. Sam had proven himself willing to make the sacrifice when it mattered, so had Meg. "And I'm _tired _of you constantly insinuating that she is!" It had been ages since he yelled at Dean, but the boy had this coming for some time. "What would Bobby say if he could see you right now?"

When Dean turned toward him there was fire in the hunter's eyes. "Don't you dare say his name."

"He would have told you to let Sam die, to let him do what he chooses to do with his own life for once in your life but you couldn't! You couldn't accept that he wouldn't always be there to stand in for the family you lost!"

"You son of a bit-"

"Enough! Both of you!" Cas hadn't even noticed that Sam was in the room. Even though he looked like hell, Sam somehow managed to yell at a volume that gave him pause. Before Cas or Dean had a chance to respond he cut them off. "Dean, lay off Meg. Cas, this is neither the time nor the place."

Cas didn't want to stop. He knew Sam was right but, at that moment all he wanted was to bludgeon some sense into the older Winchester. But, Sam was right, all he was doing was straining the uneasy rapport he had worked so hard to reclaim.

"What ingredients did you use to bind him?" _When you tried to kill me._

To the surprise of everyone in the room, the older Winchester responded like he had completely forgotten the argument. "Whoa, hey, that's not a good idea. Pissin' off Big Daddy Reaper ain't exactly on my bucket list. He said if we try that again he will kill us before we even get started."

"There is no other way that is guaranteed to get his attention." Cas didn't relish the idea of getting Death's attention by pissing him off but, he couldn't think of any other way to do so. "Dean, when he gets here, let me talk to him."

"What? Why?"

"Because he's an angel – sort of. I can reason with him."

"What? I thought that was a figure of speech!"

"His name is Azrael." At times Cas couldn't believe how little the boys knew about heaven and its angels. "He was the first born of all creation. He is tasked with maintaining the natural order of things – everything that is will eventually be reaped."

"Why is this the first I'm hearing of this?"

"Because it wasn't relevant up until now, he doesn't care about earth but he may still care about heaven."

* * *

"I'm sorry for shouting at you, Dean."

Dean didn't even look up, he kept mashing at the fulgurite with the mortar and pestol while trying to act like he couldn't hear Cas.

It had been quick and easy for them to gather the ingredients this time, the bunker – to no one's surprise - had real fulgurite in ample supply. Cas was rummaging through a cabinet in search of dried peat moss when a cold, even voice rung out in the small room.

"Hello again, Dean."

Cas jumped and spun around to see Death staring at Dean from the other side of the table, he appeared profoundly annoyed.

"I wish I could say it was good to see you."

Dean sputtered. "I- I remembered what you said, that's why I just gathered the ingredients." Dean seemed to notice the clacking sound of the mortar and pestol banging together from the shaking of his hands so he put them down.

Death drew a slow breath and turned toward the chair next to him before responding dismissively. "You had better have a good reason for luring me here."

"Yeah well uh, Cas here was very insistent."

The gaunt man approached a chair at the table by the back of the room, turning to face Cas as he sat. "Oh yes, that annoying mutated angel."

Cas had been still as a statue up to this point, barely able to breathe in the presence of his eldest brother. "Not anymore. I'm uh, actually." He stumbled over words trying to form a simple sentence. "I'm not actually an angel at all."

"Yes, I am aware. I'm still not hearing why you have brought me here."

"Because we need your help, Azrael."

Whatever crossed Azrael's face couldn't quite be described as a smile but, the old name had certainly piqued some interest in him. "And what makes you think I respond to that name?"

"That is what my father called you, though you are far less grotesque than he described."

"Flattery? Please. Just get on with it while I'm still even a little bit interested."

"The angels – our family – have been expelled from heaven by Metatron, we need your help to undo his spell before it's too late."

Azrael deliberated briefly before responding in a soft, lecturing tone. "No."

"What?"

"The spell can only be undone by Metatron, assuming of course, that it can be undone at all." With a sigh he waved his hand over the table where embossed letters and an extravagant symbol grew out of the wood. "This is what you need to get one person into heaven. It is a one way trip - so don't travel _light_."

Cas approached to get a better look at the symbol, Dean showed no such curiosity and remained still.

"What do I do when I get there?"

"Figure it out."

Before Cas had a chance, Dean spoke up. "What about Sammy?"

"Is that a 'thank you'?"

"Can you fix Sam or not?!"

Dean backed down for an instant when Azrael looked him in the eye, as if he was afraid of what the angel was going to say. "I cannot fix him because he cannot be fixed. You can't undertake the trials and just drop it whenever you please. Sam will either die much like Jimmy here or he can die sealing hell forever."

"So, what? That's it?"

"I hope this is the last time we see each other, Dean." With a rush of wings Azrael was gone before he had even finished speaking.

Dean and Cas stood in stunned silence for a few moments before Cas loomed over the table where Azrael had engraved the spell for getting into heaven. The spell brought back uneasy memories, it was very similar to the spell that allowed him to tap into Purgatory. He stared at the embossed wood for almost a minute before Dean joined him.

"Angel blood. Well, that's convenient."

"Not exactly the word I would have used. We're going to need her help, assuming she still wants anything to do with us."

"You know why the original plan was to cure Crowley, right?"

"Yes, Dean. You wanted to leave hell leaderless but, you didn't think it through. Abaddon will be a far more fearsome leader for hell than Crowley; leaving her down there unopposed would be a mistake. Sending them both back will lock hell in a civil war for eons, it will take them much longer to find a way back."

"Crowley doesn't stand a chance against Abaddon, she'll tear him to pieces in an hour."

"Dean, don't underestimate Crowley. He's had years to prepare for something like this."

"Aren't these trials supposed to seal hell forever?"

"Seal it, yes. However, they will find a way back here eventually – and I imagine they will be upset."

"Great. That's great. So you're saying Sam is sacrificing himself for what? A time out?"

"No, Sam is sacrificing himself for the good of the many. There are tens of thousands of demons on earth Dean and they will all be pulled back in and locked up for some time."

"There's still the small problem of the angels."

"The angels are a very big problem but, I hope Metatron holds the key to returning them to heaven. I have my blade, I can threaten him…" At this point Cas couldn't even fake confidence. If Azrael wouldn't help him then he really didn't have much hope left of impeaching Metatron.

"You'll need a hell of a lot more than your blade."

Cas turned to leave but, when Dean didn't respond he lingered. After a moment of silence Cas spoke up again. "You seem troubled."

"Gee, ya think Cas? Just go find Meg before I make the mistake of thinking about this mess."

* * *

"You did it?" Sam asked as Dean appeared in the doorway.

"Yeah, uh, why were you so intent on not being here?"

"Put your hand up if you have been personally addressed by the Angel of Death as you died before."

"Point taken. Well, what do you got?"

"They did know about angels but, there definitely aren't any documented encounters – let alone fights."

Sam had been pouring over records while Dean and Cas summoned Death. It seems Castiel was just about the first angel anyone had encountered in the last millennium or so, because it stands to reason if anyone else did, the men of letters would know of it. There was a single discredited reference to Samuel Colt however, apparently due to his level of alcoholism and the impossibility of his claims they weren't taken seriously. There were frequent references to angels in a number of exorcism records, typically just in correspondence where demons claim to be angels. Sam did manage to find stories that shed some light on the origin of the Men of Letters; apparently their techniques had been passed down to them by a fellow referred to only as 'The Writer'.

The Writer seemed to know that angels weren't exactly the apple-cheeked gentlemen depicted in modern versions of the bible, because in the tome dedicated to everything the Men of Letters knew about him they mentioned a spell he had given them centuries ago. He said it would protect them should the angels seek to harm them by rendering the angel impotent and temporarily blind.

"But, they are the Men of Letters after all, apparently just about everything they know was passed down by someone who called himself the Writer." Sam turned the tome so Dean could see. "They have an 'in case of emergency' stun spell, all we need is demon blood and goat skin. Apparently it will disable an angel for a little while."

"How long?"

"I don't think the spell has ever been used, Dean. We're flying blind here."

"Well it's more than we had a few minutes ago."

Sam was used to a certain degree of blind optimism by now, especially as far as the spells archived by the men of letters.

"Do we have demon blood here?"

"I already looked; no dice."

"Seriously? The men of letters don't have demon blood kicking around?"

"Hey man, there is an entire room dedicated to blood – goat blood, pig blood, dog blood, you name it. I looked but, after an hour of alternating between looking and puking I couldn't find any." That was a lie. One of the first things Dean did while getting comfortable was look for and get rid of the demon blood.

"What about Crowley?"

"I'm thinkin', the less he knows about this the better."

* * *

Cas had been combing every bar and tavern the small town had to offer for nearly an hour before he settled on a relatively understated hole in the wall called "Rock Bar". It was a dark old brick and mortar from the same era as the general store he saw on the way into town. He drove from one end of the parking lot to the other, seeing only narrow spaces between other trucks he decided to continue down the road for somewhere more open as he did not trust his ability to park between cars.

A new drug store down the road was dark and its parking lot was almost completely unutilized. Cas situated the truck in the far corner of the lot, preferring the guide of the two walls along the perimeter of the lot as opposed to lines on the ground that he could only see from a distance.

When he entered the bar he was greeted with the stench of cigarettes and spilled beer, the air was thick with smoke which scratched at his nose and throat. He walked past the doorman who grunted in his direction in protest but, remained seated. There were about thirty people in various stages of intoxication, many gathered around the dance floor and most of the rest were seated along the bar. No short, dark haired woman in a leather jacket and jeans.

This was the fifth bar he had searched to no avail. If she wasn't in Lebanon then she obviously didn't want him to find her but, she had no way of knowing that he was even looking for her. Typically to find a demon all you have to do is summon them but, he didn't know what her demon name was. Even if it were possible to summon her, he had learned recently that demons are under no obligation to respond to the ritual in a timely manner.

Instead of continuing his search Cas found a table and sat. The wooden chair was lumpy and uncomfortable and he wanted nothing more than to be anywhere else but, it was more of a gesture of defeat than a preference. A certain level of intoxication would hopefully provide some relief, being alone was not something he was used to. He leaned into the table, holding his forehead with his thumb and index finger.

"Meg, where are you?" He mumbled, almost expecting a response.

The chattering around him was almost deafening, the scratching of cutlery on plates, the clanking of glasses and howling of drunkards. Places like this used to amuse him, the people with the most misery to drink away were often the ones trying the hardest to seem happy. He couldn't help but wonder if anyone else in the bar was the sole cause of the death and misery of the majority of their family.

"I'm going to have to start calling you George."

When Cas looked up he saw her eyeing him up and down disapprovingly. He could only offer her a confused quirk of his brow as she seemed to expect a response.

"Right, not a fan of movies."

"I'm sure I'd like them, I just don't have the time." He debated asking her how she found him but, it didn't matter. "I thought you were dead. We all did."

She glanced at him knowingly for an instant before looking down. "Just now? Please, I just have something you dummies seem to lack – a healthy fear of the Grim Reaper."

"I meant before."

The retraction he was expecting didn't come, instead she looked up with a pained look in her eye. "It's not like I was on vacation. I spent a week in a dumpster for fuck's sake."

Cas regretted his words. He didn't blame her, not for a damned second. He didn't want to know if she had originally intended to stay away, because if she had that meant she had done all of this because of him. In the pit of his stomach he wished she would stop being there for him, that she would do what a demon ought to and look after herself for a change.

"I'm sorry."

"Shut up." She ran her fingers through her hair, pushing the dark tresses away from her face. "It's over now anyways."

"Where were you?" Cas wasn't sure he wanted to change the subject so he asked an ambiguous question.

"Hiding. Texas mostly, you'd think somewhere that inundated with Baptists would be a safer place to hide from demons." She offered him a nervous chuckle before her tone became more serious. "I hated not knowing. Every second I wasn't there to watch your ass you could have either saved the day or gotten yourself killed. I tried to find you, I really did."

Her words hit him like a ton of bricks. All this time he thought she was the hopeless one, the one who would always be too self-righteous for her own good. "When I went back to the alley looking for you… when Sam told me what happened... I was ready to give up."

"Don't talk like that." She was uncharacteristically candid with him, speaking slowly and softly. "We both signed up for what was most likely a one way trip. Besides, I'd rather die for something than live for nothing."

He couldn't help but smile. She was never going to stop sticking her neck out for him – come hell or high water she was going to be there until the end. "I'd rather you lived." He met her gaze for a moment, holding onto the fleeting moment when it felt like they could be open with each other. "Where were you, just now?"

"Japan."

Cas raised an eyebrow.

"What? It's nice and cold there this time of year, also the people are short and keep to themselves."

"It's just not what I was expecting is all, I thought you'd go pick fights in a bar or engage in other forms of iniquity."

"You can do that in Japan." She grinned slyly.

After a brief pause Cas rose from his seat. "Well, I guess it's time to meet our maker." It was hard to chase away the solemn tone in his voice.

She grasped his hand lightly, turning it over and meshed her fingers with his. "Oh cheer up, Thursday. I'm going to be cured and you're going to lay the smackdown on Metatron – the plan will go off without a hitch and then you're going come back and take me out dancing."

"Like we could be so lucky."

"Cas, you can go into this with a fool's hope or you can go in like you've already lost. It's your choice." She slid out of the chair and stood but, didn't release him. "Come on, those idiots are probably waiting for us."

His face lightened somewhat. "Yessum."

She ran her hands up his arms lightly and tugged on the lapel of his trench coat. "I'll race you to the truck."

Cas lifted his head. "You don't know where I parked."

Meg smiled impishly before disappearing.

After a split second of hesitation before he took off running after her, after snaking through the maze of tables he tackled the door of the bar and barreled down the sidewalk toward the drug store. He accidentally clipped someone who tried to get out of his way and they yelled after him but, he didn't care.

_Why are you even trying? There's no way she isn't there already_.

It was that thought that made him realize there was a huge grin on his face; he wasn't chasing her because he was trying to win, he was chasing her because it was fun.

He rounded the corner into the drug store parking lot and saw the truck but, no sign of Meg in or around it. It was too quiet, she was certainly waiting nearby to scare him.

When he reached the car it became very obvious Meg wasn't nearby. "Meg!" He called out. "Does this mean I wi–" Before he could finish the sentence he was unconscious.

* * *

"Wake up, featherbrain."

He managed to force his eyes open. He felt somewhat relaxed, like he had just successfully slept. "Meg?"

The room was dark, spare a light over himself and another over Meg. She was chained to a cast iron Star of David along the far wall, almost identical to the one he had employed to trap Alistair. Enochian was etched in the metal, though he couldn't make out the symbols from this distance. The room wasn't large and the stink of mold and old copper pipes hung heavily in the air. In her prison of iron and shackles, Meg appeared to be completely unharmed, certainly in better shape than the last time she woke him up.

"Where are we?" Cas asked. He looked down and found himself bound to a chair. His arms were bound together, behind him and his legs were bound to the legs of the chair.

"I don't think where is as important as who brought us here. It was an angel, Cas, a very no-nonsense kind of angel." She turned her head to the left and revealed a large bruise at about eye level by her ear.

With a flap of wings a man appeared in what appeared to be the exact center of the room, the lights flickered and Cas was overwhelmed with the smell of ozone that rushed into the room. It was Zadkiel, one of the Rafael's most loyal henchmen. He served Michael as a sort of Praetorian, though he was better known as a squad leader for their more clandestine activities before he took an even more insidious role in the civil war afterward. He personally took the lives of dozens of Cas' most dutiful commanders.

His chosen vessel was a short and slim German man of about 30. The man wore round glasses and a lab coat which were an odd contrast to his head of unkempt, shaggy blond hair and thick beard. He stood perfectly still for a moment, surveying the pair of them before speaking.

"It's good to see you again, Castiel." The angel took a small breath with each pause.

"The feeling is not mutual, murderer." Cas hated Zadkiel, he could purport to respect a soldier that just follows orders but, Zadkiel always seemed to enjoy killing his siblings.

"Now, Castiel, I suggest taking a moment to reflect on your situation before saying a lot of things that I'll make you regret."

Meg laughed. It wasn't a reserved or nervous giggle, she threw her head back and laughed heartily, as if Zadkiel's threat was the single funniest thing she had ever heard.

"Why are you laughing?!" His accent was very thick and almost incomprehensible when he yelled.

"You've got to be kidding me. I remember you."

"And I, you, wretch." He spat.

"Meg?" Cas inquired.

"This idiot and two of his feathered pals tried to jump me and old yellow eyes. Why don't you tell him how that turned out?"

"Enough!" He reached out to Meg and squeezed his hand into a fist, as he did her eyes rolled back into her head and she started choking.

His reaction wasn't what he expected. Seeing her chest heave as she tried to take in air, hearing the starved rasp of her depleted lungs, his response was completely involuntary.

"Stop!" He yelled, only after closing his mouth did he realize his error.

A smile crept along Zadkiel's lips. "So the rumors are true." He turned to her, as if to admire his work while she continued to choke. "A fallen angel and a demon trollop." He released Meg who gasped and began hyperventilating.

Cas avoided the gaze of his disgraced brother. He tried to adjust the bindings around his wrists but quickly realized it was no use, they were cinched tight and wouldn't budge.

"I'm sure you've guessed why I'm here. I want you to bring Metatron down here."

"What makes you think I would do that?" Cas was cautious about telling the truth, if he was no use to Zadkiel then he would kill them both without a second thought.

"I never believed, you would do so willingly." He approached a table in the shadows next to Meg's prison. "I had anticipated, you would need a certain kind of, motivation." His brother ran his fingers along metal instruments before settling on something. Cas felt a chill run down his spine when he saw a syringe in Zadkiel's hand.

"Hah. Bring it on little man." Meg's voice was almost boisterous, she didn't even flinch.

"Now unfortunately, you're merely human, Castiel, I had debated using some of these things on you." Cas couldn't see the table from where he sat but, he was sure that was a good thing. "But, these humans are so fragile, a stray cut and you'll bleed to death; you see, I've never been terribly good at healing these smelly things." He gestured to his vessel before continuing to pontificate. "A demon, on the other hand, can take quite a licking." He said as he drew liquid into the syringe. With steps that were slow and deliberate he approached Meg's side and paused, looking to Cas. "Last chance to spare this… hideous creature." Zadkiel's nose wrinkled in protest.

Cas opened his mouth to respond but, Meg spat in Zadkiel's eye before he had a chance.

Zadkiel removed his glasses and wiped his eye with his sleeve. "Well, I see civility is off the table." Without waiting for a response from Cas he stabbed the large needle into Meg's neck, pushing what he could only assume was holy water into her veins.

Meg squirmed uncomfortably for a few seconds and grunted, her face was a shade of pink and she was clearly very uncomfortable but, she maintained her composure. When he finished the injection she clicked her tongue. "Hmm, a little oaky. Crowley's stooges woke me up like that just about every day for over a hundred years. You'll have to be more creative if you want to impress me."

Zadkiel faltered a moment before turning to Cas. "I guess we will just have to skip the build-up, then."

It took a moment before he realized to what his brother was referring. "No!" Cas shouted.

Zadkiel took a moment to intimidate them both, his hand shone white for a few seconds before a point of light formed at the end of his fingers, bathing the room in its white glow. Cas tugged at his restraints, when he leaned forward and tried to separate his hands the abrasive rope sawed into the flesh on his wrist. Zadkiel turned to him as he clamped his hand around Megs eyes and forehead. His eyes burned bright as he channeled the energy into her, incinerating her from the inside. She screamed in a way Cas had never heard before.

He turned back to Cas. "I suggest you get praying, Castiel." When he released her Meg's head fell limp and she was wheezing softly. "You could have spared her all this. If you hadn't hidden yourself, I would have just swooped you up. There would be no need for her to die."

Cas growled at him. He had once heard of someone feeling so angry that they lost their mind but, he could never imagine being so passionate. Now, he could actually feel his grip on reality loosen as he alternated between seething rage at the sight of Meg in pain and fervent bloodlust as he imagined disemboweling Zadkiel. In a moment of clarity between the two states he remembered the banishing sigil and attempted to rearrange himself in his seat. Reaching toward his pocket he fished for the pen he had grabbed earlier. "Stop! I'll try! I'll try. H- he doesn't always respond right away."

"Get on with it." Zadkiel crossed his arms in some mockery of patience.

"Metatron, I know you can hear me. I need you right now." As he spoke he slipped a finger into his pocket and found the pen. He managed to force it along the seam of his pocket into his hand. Straightening himself in his seat, he continued praying. "Metatron, I need help. I think they're on to me."

Cas stopped speaking when Zadkiel smiled – he couldn't think of anything else to say. It was a challenging articulation but, he managed to arrange the pen in his hand so that he could snap the metal clip. With a barely audible crack the clip snapped diagonally, when he tapped the edge, it drew blood from his finger with little effort. Cas got to work engraving an Enochian sigil in the side of his finger while trying to suppress wincing in discomfort.

"What's taking him so long, Castiel?"

"I told you, h- he doesn't always come when I call."

"_Compel_ him to make an exception." He reached over to Meg.

"Metatron!" Cas yelled as Zadkiel grabbed Meg again and continued to burn her alive. Her scream sent a shudder through his body causing Cas to plunge the jagged metal into his finger, ruining the sigil. He closed his eyes and tried not to listen while he pressed the metal clip into his middle finger. "Metatron!" He yelled.

When Zadkiel released Meg's face she managed to keep herself upright.

"Cas." Her voice was barely audible.

He wanted to break free of his bonds, to unfurl his wings, snatch her up and incinerate Zadkiel where he stood. He had never felt this powerless – not even when he watched his entire family rain down from heaven. Of all the things he wanted to do, of all the things he wanted to say he had to make do with empty reassurance.

"It's going to be okay, Meg."

"Whether or not it will be okay is entirely up to you, Castiel." He spoke with the same tired, lazy inflection he always used. "I suggest you continue praying." He lifted his arm.

"Don't touch her." Cas growled. He was still carving away at the side of his finger but, he didn't feel the pain of slicing his flesh any longer. Any pain he should be feeling was completely subsumed by his anger.

"Yes, I suppose it is getting quite old." Zadkiel walked over to Cas.

"Metatron! I'm out of time!" He called out, entertaining for one fleeting moment the thought that his brother would actually save him from this lunatic.

Zadkiel placed a finger on Cas' chest. "There's still time, Castiel. I'm going to drag this out as long as that squishy monkey suit of yours will let me."

It started out cold, like a piece of ice found its way under his shirt. As quickly as it had materialized the novel feeling gave way to the feeling of his insides on fire. The angels finger had burnt through his shirt in a flash and was searing his flesh below.

Cas gripped the jagged metal as hard as he could, his life depended on not dropping it. "Stop!"

Zadkiel yielded. "Yes, I suppose killing you won't get me anywhere, now will it?" He retracted his arm and returned to Meg who growled at him. Cas wasted no time and resumed sawing into his finger.

"I should kill you on principle." Zadkiel spat. "Those filthy mutts killed two of my men."

Meg chortled. "It should have been all three. You only got away because you pushed down one of your own so you could escape."

He slapped her across the face hard, it sounded like a whip crack and echoed on the cement walls. Cas struggled to maintain his composure, he was almost done carving.

"Don't you dare presume to judge me, wretch." He spun around and faced Cas. "If you don't get Metatron down here in thirty seconds I'll kill her." With a flick of the wrist he pulled out an angel blade.

Cas finished the sigil. "Metatron! Please!" He yelled out while wetting his opposite palm with his blood. Zadkiel barely nicked Meg's arm with his blade before Cas slapped the side of his finger with his bloody palm. Zadkiel cried out before he erupted into a ball of white light. Cas closed his eyes reflexively.

"Cas?" Meg called out as the light faded, her voice was strained.

"I'm here."

"Good." She mustered a breath. "Everything's purple."

"I would have warned you but," he paused, "I wasn't sure it would work."

She didn't respond immediately. "Oh."

Sawing away at the ropes took time but, before long Cas broke through the last loop of rope and managed to separate his arms. His muscles ached and his wrists were marred from the ropes but, he had no time to rest. He untied his legs and got up from the chair, taken aback by how stiff he was merely from sitting bound to a chair.

"My hero." She drawled.

Cas smiled and approached her prison. He used his foot to try and break what he assumed was a chalk circle to no avail. "Damn. He carved it into the concrete." He looked up at her and was shocked to see the extent of the damage Zadkiel had done. "Your face… you look like…" He trailed off.

"Hell?" She smirked.

He used the jagged metal shank to scratch at the concrete. "Let me know when it works, I guess." Even the sawing motion was exhausting but, he endured. After a few short seconds he heard her sigh with relief.

"There we go." Meg remarked after Cas put a pronounced mark on the trap. She flexed her arms and snapped the chains one at a time, the chain clanked on the iron as it swung back and forth when she pulled her arm away. Kneeling, she pried the bonds on her ankles apart without much effort. After standing up, she reached upward and stretched for a moment, groaning comfortably. In a flash she spun around and punched the iron Star of David into the wall. It crashed to the ground so hard that Cas had to cover his ears.

After the metal on concrete clamoring stopped she spoke. "What do you say we get out of here?"

When she faced Cas he tried not to stare at the burns on her face. They were already on the mend but, her skin was scarred, blistered and at points actually charred. Before he really processed what was happening he found himself holding her in an awkward hug. To his surprise she didn't protest.

She tilted her head upward and spoke directly into his ear. "Why are you so sweet on me, Clarence?"

"I don't know." He paused, taking some time to enjoy the little things for the first time in far too long. One little thing in particular. One tough as nails, ferociously loyal, breathtaking little thing. It took conscious effort to chase away the poetry before he spoke again. "We should get the truck before returning to the bunker."

She pulled backward somewhat. "I think I can do that."

When he looked up they were next to the car still tangled together in their unusual sort of embrace. He was beginning to enjoy their jaunts, it had none of the jarring acceleration and deceleration of flying – though the cold took a great deal of getting used to. It was as if there was an escalator full of icy, inky darkness between any two points, the only comfort was the cold breath wafting against his neck reminding him he wasn't alone in the blackness.

When he let her go he couldn't help but look down at the damage Zadkiel had done, there was a burnt hole through his jacket and shirt down to the charred flesh below. He pulled at the fabric to separate it from his skin but, winced at the sharp pain of his skin pulling away with it and stopped.

When he looked up he saw that she had walked toward the driver side of the car, seemingly intent on beating him there.

"You're driving?"

"Sure."

He cocked his head in confusion. "I thought you didn't know how to drive."

"Sure, I know. It's fun. I drove the Impala once, in case you've forgotten." She paused, giving him a snarky smile. "I guess your eggs were still on the scrambled side back then."

"So, why let me fumble with it when you could have done it?"

A quirk of her eyebrow told him everything he needed to know. "Because that was more fun."

As he ambled around the back of the car he stopped, turning to watch her climb in. It was such a simple motion yet he found it absolutely mesmerizing, the bottom of the door came up to her waist but in a practiced routine she hopped up on the foothold and slid into the seat. He tore his eyes away from her when the engine roared to life and joined her in the cab.

* * *

"Hello again, boys." Meg called out after opening the front door to the bunker.

Dean had moved to the atrium since Cas left, taking up reading through records which he had stacked on the still illuminated table. The surly hunter looked up from the folder he was thumbing through and scoffed at her 'Hard Rock Café' T-shirt.

"You went to the 90's to hide from Death?"

"Uh, no dummy, it's called Japan."

"Let me get this straight, you fl-" Dean stopped when she lifted an eyebrow. "Never mind. How did you find Cas?"

"He said my name five times into a mirror with the lights off." She matched her sardonic tone with a roll of her eyes.

"We need your blood, Meg." Sam interrupted the icy exchange.

"Straight to the point – huh? I'm starting to like you, Sasquatch." She made her way into the common room.

Cas opened the front door and walked in without saying a word.

"What's up, Cas?" Sam asked while looking at Meg. He motioned for her to sit next to him.

"Nothing." Cas lied. When he got to the bottom of the stairs he approached Dean. "We need to get started."

"Ouch." Meg feigned a wince when Sam cut her with his knife. He collected the blood in a small bowl. "What do you need all that for?"

Sam offered her a handkerchief but, she waved him off and seemed to heal the wound just by thinking about it. "It's for the spell. It needs to be written in demon blood."

"What spell?" Cas and Meg asked in unison.

"The spell Cas is going to need to fix heaven. The men of letters had a way to disable angels temporarily – It's an old spell that has to be written on a sheepskin scroll in demon blood. There are incantations as well." Sam summarized what he had gleamed from the tome.

"That's all well and good but, how is he going to get into heaven?" She turned to Cas who was leaning on a vacant table.

"Yeah, well that part isn't as simple." Dean held up the paper he had wrote Death's spell on. "Cas, I'm sure you remember that you needed the blood of a purgatory native to get into Purgatory. Well, getting in heaven is basically the same deal."

"Yes, I recall. Will my blood work?"

"I don't think so." Sam chimed in. "To get into Purgatory you needed the blood of a living Purgatory native – since your grace is gone I don't think your blood will work. We need the blood of an angel."

"I'm not exactly itching to do that again."

"Zeke!" Dean called out, as if beckoning someone from another room.

Sam's eyes flashed blue and his voice became unusually level. "Yes, Dean?"

Cas and Meg wore similar slack jawed expressions. They knew an angel when they saw one.

"Will Sam's blood work?" Dean asked.

"I'm not certain. It should be the same but, this is a unique case."

"You hypocrite." Cas spat.

"Not now, Cas." Dean responded dismissively.

"So I have to shelve my plans to help my family because that's what got us into this mess but, when Sam's life is on the line abandoning the trials and having him possessed by an angel is somehow different?!"

"What the hell are you boys doing." Meg's voice echoed the distress etched on her face as she backed away from Sam, toward the door.

Dean opened his mouth to respond but he was cut off.

"I don't mean you any harm. Dean prayed for help and I came to him, as is my duty."

"You'll forgive me if I don't take his word for it." Her voice was uncharacteristically shaky, she turned to the door but Cas intercepted her.

"It's okay, Meg." He held her forearm and tried to coax her eyes off the door but, she pulled away, clearly intent on leaving.

Ezekiel approached the two of them. "You're a demon, I can sense that the blood of my family and countless others drenches your hands. A year ago I would have smote you where you stand without a second thought, however now that I have had to do the same I cannot judge you so harshly. Any friend of Castiel's is a friend of mine. Leave if you like but, I will not harm you."

Cas released her but, she didn't make a move for the door, instead she looked up at Cas for a moment before crossing her arms defiantly.

"Damned Winchesters." She mumbled.

"If we take his blood he will notice if you don't heal him. Can you do that?"

"Yes but, he will require food and rest – I can't make blood from nothing."

"Alright, we can do that. Uh, one more thing; can we test this scroll on you? It's supposed to just be a stun spell but, we really don't know what it will do."

"If it kills me or removes me from this vessel your brother will almost certainly die."

Dean closed his eyes for a couple seconds before opening them. "Okay. Never mind." Almost immediately after Dean stopped talking Sam's eyes returned to normal.

"But, you can find it – the one you killed?" Sam asked Meg.

"Uh." She turned to Dean who nodded in an exaggerated fashion. "Yeah, sure." She cleared her throat. "Sounds like a slam dunk to me boys, what do you say we get started sooner rather than later?"

"Yeah, that sounds good." Sam agreed.

"Yes." Castiel finally spoke. He removed his hands from the vacant table and approached Sam, Dean and Meg.

"Alright well, I'm going to make Sam here something to eat so he doesn't die from the blood loss." Dean turned to Cas. "And you two are going to find that dead angel and bleed it dry."

"What? How about we all go after the angel and then we worry about me needing food." He argued but, it wasn't as passionate as his usual protest; he was weary, even if he was too proud to admit it.

"I said find, Sam." He looked up to Cas. "I'm assuming you two know what you're looking for – 'cause I don't."

"It's a small town, Squirrel. I'm sure we'll find it." Meg spoke before Cas had a chance. "Come on, Clarence."

She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and when Cas looked up he found himself in the inky dark again. The silence was somewhat uncomfortable which compelled him to speak.

"Can you-" before he had a chance to finish the sentence he found himself in a small, windowless room. There was a trace of light from under a door to his left but, otherwise the room was completely unlit. He could hear people talking nearby but, it was hard to pinpoint.

"Where are we?" He asked, raising his voice over the loud music that reverberated against the door.

Meg had already started to walk to the lit door. "Rock Bar. Don't you recognize the stench?" The cigarettes and beer that fouled the air weren't unique but, they were somewhat familiar. When Meg opened the door Cas found himself looking at the back side of the bar.

"How'd you get back there?" A gruff, disembodied voice asked.

"Oh." She turned to Cas and motioned for him to join her. "We were just uh, looking for the bathroom."

When Cas emerged he saw the short, bearded bartender. The man diverted his gaze from Meg's rear when Cas came out from behind the door to smile in a way that made him uncomfortable. The man nodded in some sort of approval and turned back to the dozen or so patrons along the counter. Cas looked in the room they emerged from before closing the door, it appeared to be a small pantry however, many of the shelves were filled with alcohol and few contained food of any kind. He closed the door and looked for Meg who had already walked off, presumably in search of a table.

He found Meg in a booth not far from the table where she had found him earlier. The establishment was arranged in four sections; there was a bar that sprawled along the north wall until the entrance to the kitchen and bathrooms. Along the east wall was a row of booths under somewhat dimmer lighting than the rest of the bar. Between the booths and the small dance floor on the southwest side was a smattering of round tables and high chairs.

"Would it be too soon if I ordered wings?" She called out when he was just within earshot, as he approached he saw a sardonic smirk on her face.

Cas knew she was making a joke at his expense but, was unsure how to respond. "I'm sure if we asked Dean would have made us some food as well." Cas lowered himself awkwardly trying to sit down at the booth, he nearly tripped on the legs of the table while trying to slide down the booth.

"Yeah, well, Dean doesn't like me. I'm pretty sure if you leave us alone together he won't hesitate to kill me. Also I'm not actually interested in eating."

"You should, you were stabbed a few hours ago."

She scoffed but, after a few seconds of contemplation she reached for a menu from the stack on the end of the table.

"So… I've never eaten anything before; what should I order?" Cas was somewhat nervous about his first meal as he wasn't sure what kind of shape his digestive system was in. He hadn't actually fed his vessel since he was affected by the horseman of Famine during the apocalypse.

"Huh, you've missed out Castiel. If you ask me the only thing these humans have done right its make food." She put down the menu and took Cas' from his hands. "Start with something simple, grilled cheese and fries will work." She turned his menu around and pointed to the third item in a list titled 'Cheap Eats'.

"What is 'grilled cheese'?"

"I guess you'll have to find out, won't you?" She waved at the bartender who walked over.

"Ready to order?" The man barked, Cas could barely make out what he was saying.

"Yes. I'll have the dozen angel wings and he will have the grilled cheese and fries."

"Angel wings?"

"I'm sorry. Chicken wings." She winked at Cas.

"Coming right up. Anything to drink?"

"Sure. Give me a pint of the third tap from the left and he will just have water for now."

"Um, alright. I'll be right back with the drinks and the food should be about ten minutes."

Cas couldn't help but be impressed, the exchange was so smooth it sounded rehearsed – he couldn't have gotten a word in edgewise if he wanted to.

"What's in the third tap from the left?"

"Hell if I know, it's all basically the same anyway."

"Don't let Sam hear you say that." Cas smiled remembering all the arguments between the two boys which had stemmed from Dean getting whatever beer was the cheapest and Sam protesting.

"I used to drink solely to get drunk but, it just isn't practical anymore."

The bartender delivers Meg's beer and Cas' water.

"It used to be two or three of these and all of a sudden everything was hilarious." She lifted the glass to her lips and immediately after swallowing she hiccupped. "But then I developed that."

Cas tried to imitate her technique, having never actually used a glass before. When he drew the water into his mouth he took an ice cube with it and when he swallowed the cube blocked off his throat, causing him to choke momentarily before coughing into the glass and showering his arms and the table with water. He froze and looked to Meg who was laughing uproariously.

"Don't swallow the ice cubes." She shook her head while smiling. "You idiot."

Cas returned the glass to the table and stared at the water he had spat out.

"Use these." Meg gestured to the napkin under the cutlery at the table.

Cas pulled the napkin out from beneath his cutlery and dabbed at the water he had spilled. He was completely fascinated by the napkin absorbing the water when his trance was broken by Meg.

"Get up." She commanded, her voice carried authority but, she sounded remarkably cheerful at the same time.

Cas looked up at her, unsure how to react. She was looking toward the far side of the bar where at least two dozen or so drunks were dancing. "I thought we were waiting for food."

"Come on." She goaded. "I want to dance – and I hate to do it alone."

"Meg, I've ne– " Before Cas could finish Meg grabbed him by his tie and pulled him out of his seat and toward the swaying drunks. He tried to steady himself as she pulled him forward with uncomfortable fervor.

_"Once a woman gets your soul, you'll never shake her free._

_These are words of wisdom, it turns out she was right,_

_Gotta find a lover 'cause I need a fix tonight."_

The music grew louder and louder as they approached the speakers by the dance floor. "I don't know how to dance." He tried to yell and make his voice sound less pitiful, knowing she would just laugh and disregard him if he didn't. Just after the words had left his mouth they passed the speakers which were facing the wall and the music became thunderous. It was unlikely that she managed to hear him but, he braced himself for the mocking. What she did next took his breath away.

"Relax." She let go of his tie and grabbed his arms, holding him close. "Just stay close and you'll do fine." She spoke into his ear.

_"I'm addicted to that rush, every time we touch,_

_I can never get enough, 'cause I'm addicted to that rush."_

Two things astonished Cas as he danced like an oaf at her side, the first was how hypnotic her motions were. When she swayed her hips or bent her knees he was compelled to follow her with his eyes. Watching her snap her hips and shoulders in rhythm to the music was mesmerizing. He had no idea what he was supposed to be doing but, more than anything he just wanted to be near her.

The second realization was even more shocking; she was beaming from ear to ear while she danced. The crease between her brows that usually accompanied a disingenuous smile was nowhere to be seen. She was happy; Meg – the demon – was _happy_.

_"Once I thought her lovin' was a habit I could break,"_

Cas imitated her hip and shoulder snap this time.

_"But when I go without it, my body starts to ache."_

When he did it a second time she caught him and burst out laughing.

_"I'm addicted to that rush."_

Only when they turned to their table and saw their food waiting for them did he realize his face was sore from laughing and smiling while they danced. She motioned to the table and Cas followed her off the dance floor.

"That was fun!" Cas yelled out of habit and exhilaration, when he heard his voice echo he realized that in the dining area the volume was considerably lower. If anyone had told him a week ago that the most memorable night of his life would be spent dancing in a dingy bar crawling with drunks and it would be spent with a demon, he probably would have dismissed them as a lunatic.

"You smile like a goon when you're happy." She chirped, sliding into the booth.

The grilled cheese was a sandwich that appeared to have been cooked in a press. It looked thoroughly cooked and greasy but, Cas wasted no time admiring the food. He lifted the soggy sandwich to his mouth and took a bite.

Meg stared at her wings with palpable disinterest before deciding to pick one up.

"So, Cas. Who's this Zeke fellow wearing everyone's favorite Winchester?"

"Ezekiel." Cas corrected her. "He was in my garrison before the war, he's… a good soldier."

Cas had nothing but good memories of Ezekiel, during the war he was a compassionate and stalwart lieutenant – like an angel ought to be. Ezekiel had come to him after his rejection of Rafael's commands, saying raising Lucifer wasn't was their father would have wanted and that he was willing to stand with him against the archangel. It was the first time Cas had felt like some kind of leader.

"That wasn't what I was asking."

"You can trust him."

"What makes you so sure?"

"He could have sold out Anna when she cut out her grace so that she could be human. He knew what she was planning but, sympathized with her and ultimately helped her conceal herself because he agreed with her, if not strongly enough to join her."

"Anna. You say that name like I should know it." She took a long pull from her beer.

"Oh, I suppose you wouldn't." He didn't quite know how to quantify what he felt at that moment, the resemblance between the two was striking at times. "You remind me a lot of her."

Meg choked and then coughed. "What?" The look on her face was puzzling, she looked flustered and speechless, certainly not taking it as a compliment as he intended.

"Yes. She taught me to question my orders and… to stand up for what's right."

"And here I thought all I did was kiss you."

* * *

**Author's note: I really wanted to put a name to the pale horseman in this chapter, Azrael seemed to fit but, they killed him off in Supernatural – I had already decided on that name before I knew Azrael was dead so I'm sticking with it.**

**Reviews make me happy :)**


	5. Chapter 4: Hide

**Author's note: Thanks to all those who have favorited, subscribed, reviewed and, of course, read the story so far! No excuses for the last two months, just needed to figure out where this story is going and life got in the way :\**

**I've been having a lot of trouble deciding what goes where in this chapter and beyond, hopefully it comes out coherent! ****J**

**Three days before where the last chapter ended is one day before ****_the fall_**** – in case there is any confusion. Oh, and 'the garden' is earth.**

* * *

**THREE DAYS EARLIER**

* * *

Gadreel found himself outside his cage, the result of a sudden and jarring pull that he hadn't anticipated. If he was honest with himself he didn't anticipate much anymore, his life was reduced to the routine of torture and waiting for more torture. He couldn't even track the amount of time he spent in the prison any more but, being outside he could sense that heaven was a very different place than he remembered.

"Who are you?" He couldn't see the angel, which was odd. It had made no attempt to communicate with him beforehand – no demands, no ultimatums. He should have been relieved for being out of his cell but, he knew better than most that there was a big difference between being getting out and being free. "Why did you free me?"

They were in a part of heaven meant for humans, not somewhere he was at all familiar with. He found himself in a sort of twisted version of the garden, the forest that surrounded him was vast, he could hear flowing water in the distance but, not a whisper of wildlife. The air was still and thin - though he wasn't very familiar with the garden, he knew that this likely indicated he was at a high altitude. The trees on all sides towered to the sky and thick brush made the woodland feel nearly as confining as his prison.

"I have not freed you. As far as anyone can tell you are still in your dungeon." The angel's voice didn't seem to originate from anywhere in particular, rather it echoed across the landscape.

The snap of a dry twig diverted his attention to his left, and for a moment he thought it was Eve that had appeared next to him. It was a convincing deception to be certain but, it was missing the intangible but unmistakable corruption of Lucifer. It was Eve as she was before the serpent trespassed in the garden, before his failure as a sentry had set in motion the events that led to the endless war that has consumed heaven ever since.

"Then why am I here?" There were no Gadreel sympathizers out there, of this he was certain. Next to Lucifer he was likely the most hated angel to ever live.

"Because I can get you out." The angel's grace was almost blinding, the air around them seemed to seethe with its power. It was a being of light and fire, fury and righteousness. He stood – for the first time - before a seraph.

Again he reminded himself how alone he had been for the last few eons. Whoever this was, it wasn't interested in helping him until now – which likely meant it wanted him for something that only an angel that couldn't afford to refuse would do. Something only an angel with nothing left to lose could do.

"I still don't know who you are."

"That doesn't matter."

"I suppose not." Gadreel responded, too nervous to continue to prod the seraph.

"You feel guilt for what you have done, as you should, but you also want freedom. It is within my power to give you that freedom. Perhaps the service of heaven will ameliorate some of your guilt, as well."

Guilt. He should have felt guilt for allowing the serpent into the garden where Adam and Eve were intended to be safe. As far as his brothers, sisters and anyone else was concerned it was his fault that she gave into temptation but, he knew the truth. It was her desire for something she wasn't allowed to have that fuelled her betrayal – she was already corrupted. Whether their father made her that way or not, that corruption was present before he was instructed to guard the garden, and long before the serpent trespassed.

Instead, seeing her only made him angrier. His fist unconsciously clenched at the sight of her. All this, everything that had happened to him was because she was tempted. Because she couldn't resist. Because she was flawed.

"What do you expect in exchange?" He asked bitterly. _What task do you require which is so terrible that you have to call upon the most wretched of your family to perform it?_

"Your assistance. I cannot tell you what is coming or when but, believe me when I say you will know."

"How can I assist if I don't know what is happening?" It was troubling, what the angel was asking from him but, much like Eve it turned out he was not immune to temptation. There wasn't much he wouldn't do to get out of his prison.

"It is already in motion, and it is far too late for it to be stopped. I require your help after. Tell me, do you know the name _Winchester_?"

* * *

**PRESENT DAY**

* * *

"Ezekiel." Cas kept his voice soft, wary of waking the wrong occupant of Sam's body.

He had actually managed to get in a few hours of rest after returning from the bar with Meg. The calm of the bunker with Sam and Dean unconscious lent itself to rest for the time being. As anxious as he was to get it over with, there was someone he wanted to talk to before he and Meg retrieved the blood of an angel for the spell.

After a short pause the angel stirred, lifting Sam's head to face him before responding. "Castiel."

It had been far too long since he last spoke to one of his siblings. Cas had looked up to Ezekiel when they served together on earth centuries ago, and over the years they had grown very close. With any luck that shared past still meant something to the brother he had betrayed - with any luck his brother would understand that he hadn't intended for any of this to happen, assuming that would even mean anything to him.

"I just wanted you to know…" Cas couldn't help trailing off. He was older than the earth itself, his intellect nearly limitless and yet he still found himself unable to find suitable words. It was such a simple thing he needed to express and even with all the wisdom he had accrued he could only think of two suitable words. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry." Sam's voice may have carried no inflection but, it didn't need to. It wasn't quite anger, after all an angel was not supposed to be capable of such a thing. It was more along the lines of icy restraint, Cas couldn't help but assume that his brother wanted to react violently. Much to Cas' surprise, however, Sam rose and slowly turned to face him. "You mean for this?"

The hunter's body shone white and the resonation of the angel's echoing voice shook the walls of the bunker. In a flash Ezekiel unfurled his wings – or what was left of them. A handful of black feathers remained on his brother's skeletal appendages, they had been charred until they were merely clumps. The silence as they looked on at one another was deafening, staring at what was left of his brother's wings made Cas' breath catch in his throat. Just as suddenly as they were revealed, he stowed them, and the angel returned to a seated position. Cas couldn't help but stare in awe, he had seen it happen, watched them burn in the skies but, seeing what he had done to someone who used to look up to him elicited an involuntary shudder.

"I mean it. For everything."

"I know, Castiel. You're always sorry, and yet here we are."

Cas squeezed his eyes shut, trying to forget what he had just saw. "I'm trying."

"I was never questioning your determination - merely where your loyalties lie."

"What do you mean?"

"The demon; Meg."

"I will always be loyal to her."

Cas could swear something went unsaid just then, a mutual understanding between two guardians. Ezekiel would know well the frustrations of being forbidden from acting unless given express direction. His brother had watched over a charge, a prophet who took his name and foretold a terrible battle but ultimately failed to have his augur heeded. He was among the first angels to disobey the archangels, rejecting his directive and saving his charge from the armies of Babylon so that the prophet could continue to guide his people.

"I know that but, so do they." His brother slumped back down into the same position Cas had found him in. With a heavy breath, the angel offered him one last word of warning. "I'm trying not be angry with you, Castiel, but many will not spare you their wrath because you are _trying._"

There was no comfort in his brother's counsel, no warmth left in the angel's gaze nor support in his tone. Even after it was clear that their conversation was over, Cas lingered for a moment. Of all the people who had reason to despise him, Ezekiel must have been near the top of the list and yet he showed restraint, all because of lingering respect from when Cas was worth looking up to. With a deep breath he reluctantly slunk away to the spare room which Meg had claimed.

The hallway was partially illuminated from the light shining out of Meg's partially open door. Moving shadows traced along the concrete wall and lavish wood paneling along the hallways across from her door, but when he got closer the movement stopped. As he reached the door he heard her voice break the silence.

"Having a chat with your angel buddy?"

Cas couldn't tell if she heard or saw him, as she made no effort to turn and look in his direction, yet he had the feeling she knew exactly where he was. When he pushed the door open he saw her by the bed, kneeling by a bag he had never seen before.

"You could hear?"

"Every demon in twenty miles heard it, Thursday. That's how we stay alive." She said as she laid out a dark pantsuit on the bed. Without even glancing at him she remarked on his attire. "Ditch the trench coat, tree topper. It makes you look like a psycho killer. We need to blend." A smile tugged at her lips as she stripped off the bloody jeans she apparently felt wouldn't go with the new, fake FBI badge Sam had made for her while they were out.

"It does not." Cas grumbled in response.

"Does to!" She retorted, contorting her face into a childish sneer before turning toward the bed.

Instead of playing along he decided to change the subject to the attire she had _acquired_. "Black. Very original."

"Enjoying the sites?" She asked, arching her back.

Though he had intended to refer to the pantsuit, she wasn't wrong. It was impossible to look in her direction without lowering his eyes to the new underwear she had _acquired_ with the clothes she intended to eventually put on. It was a remarkable contrast, the pitch black fabric wrapped snugly around her snow white hips. As he watched her lean over the new clothes he decided he was no longer content just to watch her, with the lightest steps he could muster he snuck up behind her.

"What, no retort?" She asked with a syrupy tone.

Without a word he ran his hands down her sides, almost laughing aloud when she jumped at the sudden contact, she shot up straight for a moment before relaxing against him. "I didn't think you would mind."

"Now, no one's saying that." She leaned back as she spoke, flattening the gradual curve of her spine against his abdomen momentarily before pulling away. "But, you'll have to wait for it. Angel blood first, fun later." Without waiting for a response she reached for her new pants.

"Very well." Cas turned and examined himself in the mirror again. While she dressed he couldn't help mulling over what she had said earlier - the trench coat clearly only conveyed his foresight in case of unexpected rain, why would anyone assume it indicated murderous proclivity?

After hopping inelegantly into her new pants she made eye contact with him in the mirror, over her shoulder.

"Go eat or something, you're starting to creep me out."

* * *

The angel felt himself dragged out of his vessel, extricated from Sam's body by the grip of another angel. An instant later he found himself in the common room where Sam had fallen asleep, though no longer in the boy's body. In the room waiting for him in plain view was a rotund, unshaven man with greasy, tangled hair.

"Do they suspect?" The angel asked. He was told to expect Metatron, that the scribe himself would be his handler during his assignment. His first task was to give the Winchesters a spell, something to lure Castiel back to heaven.

He mulled the topic briefly. Sam was unaware, the boy couldn't sense his presence and didn't seem to be growing any more suspicious. The same however, could not be said for Dean, Castiel and the demon. They were guarded in his presence in the younger Winchester but, no matter how perceptive they were, as of yet they had no reason to suspect him. "No, Metatron. Not yet at least."

"You gave them the spell?"

"Yes."

_The Writer._ He pondered, they were lucky that Sam was in such rough shape or such a thing would not have slipped his notice. Gadreel wasn't stupid enough to say anything but, it was becoming plainly obvious that the plan was not as meticulously planned and carefully executed as the angel from the forest had lead him to believe. It was as if they were in a rush, sloppily and desperately trying to tie up loose ends but, why was this demon so important? And why give the Winchesters an impotent spell?

Metatron strode over to the table slowly. "And what's this I hear about curing the demon?"

"They – she – won't let them just walk away from the trials. She wants to slam it shut."

"Hmm." The seraph pondered while inspecting the ornate mug the Winchester had been drinking from. "Valiant of them. Didn't think Sam had it in him to do that again."

"Technically, he doesn't." When Metatron nodded, he continued. "Sam isn't much better off than he was yesterday, and his brother is growing increasingly uncomfortable around us."

"That is to be expected."

"It may cause complications."

"I trust your judgment. Do whatever it takes and you'll have your place in paradise."

He strained his reaction, remembering the cost of his freedom. "I understand. Thank you, brother."

* * *

If anyone asked, Cas insisted on taking the truck over Sam's station wagon because he had already become accustomed to it. It had nothing to do with the rush he got from the cacophonous, guttural roar it emitted when he turned it on and hit the gas. Nor was he enamored with the absurd size of the vehicle, or the fear it instilled in other motorists.

The drive to the local precinct was largely uneventful. Meg intentionally led him to a bar because she thought it had a funny name and wanted to see the inside but, after indulging her, she had a great deal of difficulty finding where they were and how to get to the police station. She cited the absurd notion of orienting the map to cardinal directions and breaking it down into pages in a spiral bound book as opposed to a large, coherent map aligned to the main street of the town – which had been the case whenever she needed one in the past. Despite her lack of navigational prowess Cas eventually found signs on the main roads leading him in the correct direction.

The local precinct was a squat building, significantly smaller than should have been required for a city of 25000 residents. The truck was clearly not meant for the available parking stalls, it barely fit in the available parking for visitors, also the fact that it towered over the adjacent cars made parking even more of an ordeal.

"Follow my lead, I've dealt with medical examiners before." Cas insisted as he turned off the car. In truth his only experience was with Dean's help, and it was a false plurality but, she didn't need to know that.

"Oh sure." She chirped, sliding out of the truck fluidly. "I'll just stand back and watch while you work 'im over."

She met him in front of the truck and greeted him with a light punch to the shoulder. Cas pushed back, leaning dramatically before adopting a more refined demeanor to enter the police station.

"Exciting place." She commented, the extent of the public access area in the station was five chairs along one wall opposite a reception window. Along the same wall as the window there was a door with no knob and a sign warning those who would enter illegitimately of the consequences of doing so.

Cas approached the window while Meg found a seat behind him. "Hello?" He called through the open window. He saw a large desk with a chair directly in front of the window, along the back of the room were TVs showing the video feeds of cameras around the precinct. On either side of the desk there were closed doors but, no windows hinting at what lay beyond.

"Coming!" A young man's voice could be heard from somewhere beyond the reception room. A few seconds later the door on the left opened and Cas was greeted by a short, red-haired fellow in his mid-twenties. "How can I help you?"

"I'd like to speak with your medical examiner." He fished into his jacket and retrieved his FBI badge. "It is a matter of some urgency."

"Alright. Yeah, uh, I think I saw the coroner come in this mornin'. Is she with you?" He asked, gesturing to Meg who was clearly making herself comfortable, her feet were resting on the coffee table.

"Yes. I'll need her to accompany me."

"You got it. I'll buzz you through." The young man tapped a button and Cas heard a buzzing sound which seemed to trigger the door to the left of the window to dislodge.

The coroner's office was down a snaking labyrinth of hallways. The inside of the building was too cramped for its own good. The corridor he tread was barely wide enough for the two of them to walk side by side. The only sight of any interest on the way to the morgue was the large window into the station's Sallyport.

The receptionist led them most of the way before someone else could be heard in the waiting room. He talked the two of them through the rest of the way before excusing himself.

Above the door to the morgue was a sign indicating the direction to a number of other departments, most notably the armory. Cas pushed the ajar door out of the way and entered with Meg close behind. The room was almost as constricting as the rest of the station, a man on the left side of the room hastily scribbled notes on a pile of papers adorning his desk in no discernable order. The rest of the room was as one would expect, stainless steel and orderly. A heavy looking metal table sat on the right side of the room, surrounded by medical instruments and measuring equipment. A large camera was plugged into the computer on the coroner's desk, though he seemed to be ignoring the machine.

"I need to see a body." Cas announced, hopefully loud enough to interrupt the man who appeared to be oblivious of his entrance.

The coroner stopped writing and looked up at Cas quizzically. With a furrow of the man's brow he seemed to make the intended assumption. "Got some ID, son?" The coroner reminded Cas of Bobby Singer; long in the teeth, gruff voice and refers to men he is disinclined to respect as 'son'. Similarities between the two ended there however, the man was a considerably shorter and had a very visible picture of himself, his wife, a much younger couple and a baby of indiscernible gender on the wall behind him. His space gave the impression of a very proud professional, at least four decorative pieces of paper in ornate frames adorned the wall among the numerous photos, the most proudly displayed of which showed him holding up an enormous jackfish.

"Yes, of course." Cas reached into the breast pocket of his coat and retrieved his fake FBI credentials. He did his best to emulate Sam and Dean by flipping it open without diverting his eyes from the coroner.

After a pause the coroner's expression relaxed somewhat, but his tone was still terse. "Alright, and what about her? Wasn't my impression that you suits brought their girlfriends along to look at bodies."

"She's not – we're not –" Cas fumbled with his words briefly before regaining composure, Meg on the other hand was snickering silently at his flustering. "Meg, if you would."

"Of course, Mr. Plant." She drawled, producing the fake ID from her jacket pocket. The coroner narrowed his eyes at her for a moment before appearing satisfied by what he saw when she flipped it open.

"Alright, how can I help you two? I can't say anything I would consider to be of federal interest has crossed my desk in weeks."

"The man who crossed your desk with a single stab wound surrounded by burn marks is of interest to us."

"Got his paperwork in front of me right now, what are you interested in?"

"We'd like to see his body."

"What for?"

"I'd like to check for a few things you may have missed." Cas realized his error after the words left his mouth.

"Missed?" The man smacked his pen down against the desk. "Listen son, I've been doing this since before you were born. I don't 'miss' things." The man's voice was growing increasingly hostile, as did his resemblance to the only other old grump Cas had ever known.

"I meant no offense I'd just like to –"

"I don't need to have a couple snot nosed brats barging into my office telling me I can't do my job!" The man got up, walked around his desk and approached Cas. "You give me one good reason why I should give some random Fed and his girlfriend keys to that man's place of rest so they can poke around! The man has already been autopsied and you won't even look at the thorough investigation I have already done!"

"She's not my girlfriend! Sh–"

"Excuse me, sir?" Meg tapped the man's shoulder, interrupting the argument.

"And you! Wh–" Before the man could express himself or even turn around completely Meg knocked him off his feet with a right cross to the side of the head. The man was knocked out the second her fist made contact, his unconscious body tumbled against his desk and rolled off onto the floor with a crash, taking half of the papers on his desk to the ground with him.

For a moment Cas just stood there, completely overwhelmed by what had just occurred. One overreaction lead to another before he could really process what was going on.

"Meg!" Cas whispered harshly.

She shrugged and offered him a muted sigh in response. "He was pissing me off."

He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her toward him, forcing her to look him in the eyes. "You can't break a man's head open just because he gets angry with us!"

"Why not?!" When she smiled he pushed her away roughly and turned toward the now unconscious coroner. "What, now that Billy has a second chance he's trying to be a good little angel?"

_Whatever happened to me rubbing off on you? _Cas fumed momentarily before deciding it wasn't worth getting into an argument about. It wouldn't be long before someone came by for one reason or another. "We need to work quickly, find out where his body is while I get the keys."

"Why, of course, _agent_ Plant."

"Can you take this one thing seriously, please?"

She waited a few seconds, sporting her best brooding face before responding. "No."

Cas tensed up unconsciously, gritting his teeth while he flipped through the coroner's documentation on the desk. The man was indeed thorough, apparently the mailman had an aneurism and would have suffered from terrible headaches; the angel probably used that as leverage. While he was reading he felt a sharp pinch on the back of his neck and almost spun around to yell at her, instead he gripped the desk with all his might and tried to distract himself. The pinch was soon followed by a small pair of hands run down his arms.

When he pulled his arms away from her hands she laughed softly in his ear. "I love it when you get all worked up."

It irritated him, how she would act trying to get a reaction out of him. He shrugged her off and knelt at the man's side, retrieving his keys. "Did you find where he was laid to rest?" The coroner's keys were attached to a reel which gave Cas pause, he tugged it only to have it wrest itself from his hands and snap back to the fob on his belt.

"Having trouble, Clarence?"

"No." His response was more of a grunt than a word. Gripping the key ring tightly he pulled past when the reel reached its limit, snapping the cord. When the cord snapped is slung across his knuckles, he recoiled reflexively which elicited another giggle from Meg. "Where is he?"

"I'm guessing since there are only three drawers and one seems to be used as a refrigerator that we can figure that out pretty quick." She said, pointing to the far wall. The sign on the first read '_There is a fridge in the staff room! Any food left in here will be thrown out!'_

Cas tried to mute the grumble that escaped his lips before he had a chance to stop it. He fished through the pockets of his coat and retrieved the hypodermic needle he had grabbed from the bunker. Meg had already bounded to the other side of the room and started pulling open the large drawers.

Cas started with the one furthest to the right side of the room. The heavy drawer opened very reluctantly, catching a half dozen times before he heaved it out far enough to expose the man's chest. The cold air wafting into the room from the refrigerated chamber accentuated his unease with the situation. Even though Cas had no delusions about the man's need for his body to be respected, he still found himself pulling the sheet off his face and down his upper body gently. The sheet covering the man was frigid, just grasping it gave him chills. The coroner was a prickly fellow to say the least but, Cas admired his respect for the dead.

"Hmm." Meg was staring at the cadaver even more intently than he was.

"What?"

"Just thought there would be more to show for it."

Cas raised a brow in confusion.

"He put up a hell of a fight, and I got in some good hits too but, he looks like he just went to sleep." Her tone was puzzling, somewhere between confusion and disappointment. Cas didn't dare hope that she felt any kind of repentance for killing the man and the angel.

Meg spun around suddenly, and Cas followed suit. He saw a woman standing next to the door looking at the fallen coroner with visible surprise.

"What the hell are you two –" the woman stopped when she made eye contact with Meg. Her fake gasp receded with a spark of recognition, Cas couldn't even feign surprise when her eyes turned black. "Well, well." She paused, cocking her head to the side. "You're supposed to be dead."

"What can I say? I love to disappoint." She turned to Cas and ran her hand along the inside of his jacket. Just when he was about to comment on her impractical timing when she grabbed his blade, turned suddenly and hurled it at the demon in the doorway.

Cas watched in slack jawed admiration as the demon flickered and died in front of them. She was such a conflicting thing, wielding his blade with such nonchalance. An angel's blade was supposed to be personal, something forged of one's own grace into one of the mightiest weapons in heaven's arsenal and yet she wielded it like it had been hers all along.

"You... You have your own blade."

"Well, yeah but, what if I missed?" She offered him a quick grin before she jogged hurriedly toward the vanquished demon to reclaim Cas' blade from its throat and close the door. "Now, who's up for fleeing?"

Cas had to snap himself out of his frozen state. He plunged the needle he had brought into the mailman's neck, extracting grace as quickly as the needle would allow. He couldn't help but watch the man's face as he did so; his vacant, tired expression was almost haunting, Cas had always imagined people who die fighting would look somehow combative and instead the man had the face of utter tranquility.

"Is anyone else coming?" When he looked up he saw Meg frozen in place, looking at the closed door and backpedaling toward him with soft steps.

It took her a moment to respond, she was concentrating as if she was listening for something. "Yes." Her severe tone took him by surprise. She spun around and strode toward him quickly. "That'll be enough, Cas. We're going."

She wrapped her hand around his tie – which was becoming something of a tradition – but, when the door creaked open they both froze. Cas saw in the doorway an unfamiliar but, nonetheless foreboding-looking blonde woman. Tall and statuesque in appearance, long limbs, Germanic features, broad shoulders and golden blonde hair folded into a tight bun behind her head. The most disturbing part of it was that even though she never looked, Meg tensed up in her presence. That told Cas all he needed to know.

"Is that you, Abaddon?" He watched her chase the fear from her face before turning to face the intruder, careful to keep his blade hidden from view.

"I'd really rather we had this conversation in private." Even though they were inches apart Cas could tell she wasn't looking at Meg.

"Listening." Meg spoke through gritted teeth.

"Though it is always a pleasure, _Meg_, I was referring to your formerly feathered friend. We have a problem." She strode toward them, her long legs and graceful poise only served to, perhaps incongruously, accentuate the dread Cas felt in the pit of his stomach in her presence. Additionally, Meg was silent, which was always unnerving. "Specifically, the fact that a thousand angels have crashed to earth."

He grabbed Meg's arm and pulled her in close, she objected at first but, as Abaddon approached she became more pliant.

"You two." She clicked her tongue. "An angel and a demon. I feel like I'm in a fairy tale."

Cas ran his hand down Meg's arm and slid his fingers under hers, around the handle of his blade. In disapproval she squeezed his hand momentarily and turned back to him slightly, catching his gaze in the corner of her eye. After a second she seemed to understand his plan and let go.

"I'm sorry, did you intend to stare us to death or do you have something to say?" Meg employed the same schoolgirl voice she had used on the truck driver.

While doing his best to restrict his movements, he tucked the blade into the sleeve of his coat. "Why should I help you?"

"Because we want the same thing. You want to beam up all those miscreants in your sad excuse for a family and keep them in heaven, where they belong."

"And you're inclined to help me do that? Why?"

"A girl has her reasons." With a wicked smile she turned her attention downward. "What are you hiding, Meg?" She asked, no doubt referring to the fact that Meg's hands were still concealed behind her.

"Hiding?" Meg responded, revealing her empty hands. "I'm done hiding."

With the speed and grace he had come to expect from her, Meg grabbed Abaddon by the arms and pulled her toward them. Abaddon broke the grip of one of Meg's hands almost instantly, stepping into the pull and loosing a jarring right cross to the middle of Meg's forehead, sending her reeling backward.

Cas had only dropped the blade from his sleeve into his hand when Abaddon turned to him. He gripped the blade tight and lowered his stance while she just stood there looking completely bored with him, waiting for him to make a move.

"This was your plan?" She gloated.

Cas shrugged. "I'm not used –" he almost choked midsentence when he saw Meg behind her. Seeing the glint of a silver blade in her hand he swallowed hard, "- to being this limited."

Meg lunged at her, but Abaddon reacted instantaneously. The knight spun around grabbed Meg's wrist before her blade came close to making contact. Cas saw his opportunity but, by the time he had taken two steps forward Abaddon had hoisted Meg off the ground by her neck. With a clatter, her blade fell to the ground when Meg abandoned it to try and free herself from the knight's hold.

Cas sprang forward, wielding his blade like an extension of his body. He swung at her with every ounce of rage that was seething beneath his skin. It all came crashing down just as suddenly with a swing of Abaddon's arm, Cas felt the air around him contract before he was flung backward by the knight.

He had a moment of clarity as he hurdled through the air, time seemed to stand still and all he could do was look back at Meg. Her hands were wrapped tight around Abaddon's forearm, knuckles splashed white trying to lift herself away from the knight's grip. A pair of warm, familiar brown eyes were locked on his and as he watched they narrowed in anger. She rocked her hips backward forcefully and used the momentum to push against the knight's forearm. With a dull crack Cas' skull broke through the door of the cabinet – the last thing he saw was Meg swinging her leg toward the back of Abaddon's head.

After that his hearing came back in waves; the sound of wood splitting, then Meg cried out only to be silenced by the clang of metal, then Abaddon's labored breathing. He fought the seductive haze with everything he had. Pulling away from the gloom of his bruised brain was like fighting quicksand, the harder he fought the more distant the room around him became.

When his eyes focused again an intangible amount of time later he couldn't recall how he got there. The back of his head felt warm, sort of sticky and wet as well. As he pondered where he could have ended up with a warm puddle beneath him and white tiles on the roof the realization of what was happening hit him like a ton of bricks. He shot upward, much to the vociferous protest of his still throbbing head. When the blackness from the sudden movement receded from his vision he saw them standing off in front of the split remains of the coroner's desk.

Meg was holding her blade in front of her, trying to keep Abaddon at bay while she panted. She appeared a great deal worse for wear, her eye was beginning to swell and blood had trickled down from her eyebrow to her jawline. Abaddon was limping as she tried to guard a long, deep gash on the side of her leg and keep Meg in front of her.

Cas hoisted himself to his feet, using the metal table to help him balance.

"Nice of you to join us, Cas." Meg teased in a cloying tone, disregarding the knight.

"Shut up, you traitorous bitch." Abaddon snarled.

When Cas stepped forward he heard the skittering of metal and looked down to see his blade. Instinctively, he crouched, keeping both eyes on Abaddon as he felt around for it. In the seconds he had been watching the wound on the knight's leg already appeared to be less cumbersome to her.

"You have two choices, hun. Flee." Meg spoke confidently as she looked down at her blade, giving it a confident twirl. When Cas retrieved his blade he began to approach the knight in tandem with Meg. "Or die." She looked at him with an approving nod before returning her eyes to Abaddon.

"You can't kill me." Abaddon smirked in response, he and Meg noticed at the same time that there was no more trace of the knife wound on her leg.

"I can try." With a quick snap of her wrist she hurled her blade, striking Abaddon in the chest. "Now Cas!" She yelled while yanking her fist down.

The knight didn't quite fall to her knees, in fact she seemed to be almost unaffected by Meg's pull. Cas lunged at the knight, thrusting his blade toward her throat with everything he had. When he was right next to her he could feel the air popping around him as Meg tried to constrict the knight telekinetically. With a vicious thrust he buried the blade up to the hilt in her neck, rending flesh like it wasn't even there.

"Meg!" He called out as Abaddon gasped, choking and holding a hand to her impaled throat.

Before he could turn to face her, Meg gripped his collar and in the time it took to blink they were back next to the truck. Cas panted for a few seconds, looking around to see no one had noticed them before he lowered the blade to his side. He looked down at Meg who gave him an affectionate slap on the shoulder before moving for the passenger door of the truck.

"We need to get back to the bunker." Cas announced, tucking away the blade quickly before running to the driver side door.

"She will be down for a while, we've got time."

"That didn't kill her?!" Cas exclaimed.

"Knights don't die, Cas. Not unless you're an archangel or Cain himself."

* * *

"What on earth is going on here?!" Seraphiel demanded, though he knew before he finished speaking. The church was mid-seige, that's why he was called.

"I tried, Seraphiel." Bart was nursing a lurid knife wound to his side, the deep wound under his arm had all but disabled the young angel.

"How did they find you?"

"Malachi. He has been tearing the city apart looking for us."

"What? Malachi! Why?!" The room shook with the voice of the livid seraph. Malachi was a messenger of the seraphim – at least that was his duty when there was order in heaven. Even then, Seraphiel was uncomfortable with the way Malachi looked up to Jehoel.

"Later. Please, save them, then I'll tell you everything."

Seraphiel almost left him there, to die as he deserved. The unease he felt at the thought notwithstanding, their own choices had brought them here and he was not duty-bound to save them this time. Despite this, he realized that he couldn't let his family fall victim to Bartholomew's misplaced righteousness.

"On one condition. This is the end of the church of Bartholomew. You and your pack don't move a muscle without my say so. You don't leave this church, you don't fight Jehoel for territory and you _don't_ drag more of our brothers and sisters into this."

"Y- yes brother. Please."

Seraphiel winked out of the room and into the antechamber. Hael was holding her own against one of their feral brothers at the bottom of the stairs. The seraph watched the young angel lunge at her with his blade drawn, she parried and knocked him back clumsily. She appeared ragged, breathing laboriously and barely able to stand against the rain of strikes from the feral angel.

Seraphiel stepped in, knocking them both to the ground with a thought before smashing the feral angel against the wall telekinetically. Before the feral angel could react he was in front of it. When he reached for its head, it gripped his arm and tried to push him back, spewing incomprehensible Enochian as it did so but, the younger angel couldn't put up much resistance. Seraphiel pushed past effortlessly, feeling the bones of the feral's vessel snap as it made a futile effort to save itself. He pressed his hand against the feral angel's forehead and offered a silent prayer to their father for it while a brilliant white light formed in its eyes. He stood completely rigid as the room shook while he obliterated his brother. The last, dying cry of the feral angel made the seraph shudder.

For a moment he stood perfectly motionless, holding up his departed brother while bolstering himself for what was to come.

"Hael." He addressed her gruffly, without turning away from his dead brother. "Leave this place."

He turned to see her still on the ground, nursing a wound on her arm that he hadn't noticed before.

"Hael!"

She snapped out of it and looked up to him. "I- I'm going." Again he saw her attempt to fly, instead she hobbled up the steps to where he had left Bartholomew.

Seraphiel pried the blade out of his fallen brother's hand, peeling back the dead fingers of a well-dressed young man. With a blade in either hand he made his way into the choral chamber.

The room was enormous and empty. The rows of pews started before him and extended from one wall to the next until the stage on the far side of the room. One of his sisters lay motionless at his feet, her fallen wings charring the concrete floor from one side of the room to the other. She had been stabbed in the chest at least four times, though most were post-mortem.

"Be at peace, sister." Seraphiel muttered as he stepped over her body, toward the pews.

The sound of dragging footsteps along the left wall made him raise his guard. When he looked up he saw a feral angel dragging one leg as it hobbled toward him. It was spitting and yelling but, not in coherent words.

Without a second thought Seraphiel threw his stolen blade at the miserable creature, ending its life abruptly with a shower of sparks and a raucous final yell. Unfortunately, the sound perturbed a number of others who had been unaware of his presence.

Seraphiel counted six, three in front of him, one off to the left and two to his right. They all began to run toward him at the same time but, two actually flew. Before he could react they were next to him, one lunged and caught him off-guard, sending him to the ground while the other brandished an angel blade. Seraphiel managed to kick the first feral off him and return to his feet in time to deflect a slash from the second.

The first was on his feet in a flash but, Seraphiel was ready for him. He grabbed the first, spun him and threw him against the second, sending them both to the ground and giving him time to draw his blade. The third appeared behind him and before he could spin around he felt the hot metal embedded in his shoulder. He turned the blade in his hand around and slashed backward, cutting across the face of the third. Before the forth and fifth could reach him he flew across the room, landing on the stage in front of all the pews.

The sixth reacted almost immediately, meeting him as he pried the third's blade from his shoulder. Seraphiel stopped him mid-swing with a jab of his own, embedding his blade deep in the angel's ribs. Concentrating, he took flight again, landing behind the fourth as it ran for him. Before it had a chance to react he cut a deep path along its spine, sending it to the ground instantly.

He gripped the third telekinetically and send it hurling into the fifth, who had just now reached the stage.

In a blink he was back on the stage, pulling the blade away from the sixth's hand. His shoulder wept blood and the pain was growing more intense but, he endured. The walls of the church were reverberating from the last cry from the three angels whom he had killed in the last few seconds as he thrust the two blades into the third and fifth.

The first and second had regrouped, they weren't approaching him any longer and seemed to be waiting for him to make a move. He left his blades embedded in the flesh of the two fallen angels as he stood, which had the desired effect. They ran at him full tilt, angel blades glinting in the artificial light of the choral chamber.

With a snap of his fingers the two remaining angels exploded, painting the distant walls of the room with what was left of their vessels.

With a heavy heart Seraphiel let out a defeated sigh. The battle was a grim reminder that he may never see peace. All he wanted was for the constant fighting – the unending fratricide to cease but, with Michael gone it seemed hopeless. Without their father, without the archangels to keep everyone in line, was his family doomed to chaos?

But it wasn't in him to give up, so he flew to the back of the church to save what was left of Bartholomew's followers – to protect his siblings.

* * *

When they returned to the bunker they were only greeted by Kevin, who was staring at photos of the tablets he had taken. The boy didn't seem to know what to do with himself, he had no family or friends left alive and he wasn't a prophet any more. To say his life was upended wouldn't do it justice, everything he knew was gone. Even if it wasn't, nowhere and no one would be safe for long – and Cas sensed that the boy knew that better than any of them.

"When was the last time you slept, Kevin?" Cas asked, referring to the prophet by name for what was probably the first time.

When he walked up behind the prophet, the boy didn't even register his presence. Kevin mumbled something but didn't look up at them.

"Let him figure it out." Meg whispered in Cas' ear. "I'll take him with me next time I pay my respects to the king of hell." She said, loud enough for Kevin to hear this time.

Neither really expected him to respond, instead Meg gave his arm a soft tug as they walked past Kevin and into the hallway.

"It feels wrong." Meg said, waiting to voice her thoughts until Kevin was out of earshot. "Going back to the same place again."

"Why would that feel wrong?"

"We're being chased, we should be avoiding familiar places. I don't remember the last time I spent more than one night somewhere." She said.

Whether she knew it or not her words resonated with Cas. "You've been on the run that long?"

It was hard to quantify exactly how but, when that sentence left his mouth her demeanor changed almost immediately. "Laying low."

It was as if she thought he didn't know, every time he brought it up she would get defensive. Maybe she truly had convinced herself that she was at war but, he knew the truth. She was running.

"I know the feeling."

Her glare softened when she realized who she was talking to. "Hmm, I guess you would. An angel on the run from heaven, a demon on the run from hell. We're quite a pair."

"I think heaven and hell are after both of us." _Stop correcting her,_ he told himself.

Another sudden change in her demeanor, though this one he was much more appreciative of. She hummed lightly, almost growling and then grabbed him, coiling her steely fingers around his wrist and pulling him in close. "Shut up." With that, her arm was behind him, crushing their bodies together so hard he could hardly breathe. Before he knew what he was doing he had grabbed the back of her head and pulled her into a kiss, one more accurately described as a shoving match with their lips.

_Never stop correcting her._

* * *

"Wake up."

Drake stirred, dragged from the depths of his sleep by a woman's voice. "Wh- What?"

"Wake. Up."

The voice was familiar, the unmistakable tone of the one person it couldn't be. "Claire?" Reluctantly, he opened his eyes expecting to see nothing.

"I am not Claire."

_Fucking antidepressants. _It was her, clear as day. The light shone into his eyes through the curtains on the other side of the room, illuminating her like some kind of angel but he knew what he saw. She wore a sundress, as she so often did, the white one that was forever imprinted in his memory from the last time he saw her. His heart seized in his chest, as if to remind him that what he was seeing was impossible but, he ignored his better judgment for a moment. Instead of bringing him comfort, like she always had in the past, she only made him more frustrated.

"What? Then who the hell are you?"

"My name is Jehoel. I'm an angel."

"Right. You mean a dream?" Drake squeezed his eyes shut and thought of being somewhere else - anywhere else but here.

This wasn't the first time he woke up into another dream, in fact it was becoming annoyingly common. When he was up and about during the day he knew he was awake but, the groggy couple hours before and after bed were getting more confusing, despite what the doctor had promised about the new drugs. They were supposed to help get his mind off things, not turn his life into a dizzying, wakeless, endless trip.

"You don't even want to hear what I have to say?"

_It's a hallucination. If you ignore it, it will go away. _

But he couldn't. "What does it matter, you're not here. This is a dream. Not a particularly convincing one, either."

"You often talk to your hallucinations, why am I any different?" The angel/hallucination responded bluntly, not something he would ordinarily associate with Claire.

He couldn't help but be taken aback by the manners of the supposed _angel_. "Aren't angels supposed to be kind?"

"No. We are soldiers, just like you."

"If you're really an angel then you know I ain't no soldier anymore."

"A soldier isn't an occupation, Drake, it's a calling. You were meant to be a soldier." _You were meant to be a soldier._ She had told him that once before.

"That's what they tell me." Drake exhaled slowly, trying to wrap his mind around the situation. "K, let's say I believe you – let's say I'm not writing this off as another weird-ass anti-depressant fueled dream – why are you here?"

"For you. To help you."

"Took your sweet time, didn't you? Where were you when that would have meant a damn?" He had never really expected the help of angels when he was in that hot, dry prison. There wasn't much hope for their help left if they were content to stand by while his men – his brothers were murdered.

It was almost funny now. There was a time when he honestly believed that the Lord's Angels had set aside Claire especially for him - that the only way a guy like him could have found a girl like her was if it was fate. When she walked out, he realized that he was right as a cynical teenager - Angels are a fairy tale the church tells you to make sure that you put your change on the plate. He also realized you can lose a lot more than just your life while deployed.

"The same place you were. I was at war with men and women I had no quarrel with."

"Okay, you are officially the most engaging hallucination yet. What can I do for you, mister rude angel man?" He wasn't sure why but, he was almost certain the angel was male.

"I need you to say yes."

"To what?"

"My question."

"Oh, a question. Why didn't you say so? What the hell kinda angel are you? Spit it out."

"You should show me some respect." Claire narrowed her eyes and the room darkened around her. The voice was not her own, it had taken him this long to realize it somehow. "I need you, your body, to contain me on earth."

"You seem get around just fine."

She had been still as a statue since he woke up but, after he said that she approached him.

"I'm not actually here, but with your body I could be."

When she reached for his head he pulled away, trying to avoid contact with what he was still fairly sure was a hallucination. "Why would you want that?"

"Because there's a war on. My men need their leader by their side."

"What's in it for me?"

When she reached for him again he couldn't resist any more. Maybe he was finally losing it, maybe this was him giving up but, he didn't care anymore. There was one thing he wanted more than anything else, and without him saying a word she knew.

"I can make you forget."

* * *

"You need to know why I've brought you here." Seraphiel addressed the group. He had taken two dozen of his best and a handful of Bartholomew's surviving followers to an old fortress in Texas. On a tip from the still recovering Bartholomew he had investigated the place and found something he wasn't expecting – angels.

"These are your brothers and sisters. They follow Jehoel, once the head guard of Purgatory and chief of the Seraphim. We need them if we hope to stop the sickness that is claiming our brethren. I don't know what to expect, my brother was never predictable. He was our enemy in heaven, I hope that does not mean he can't see past our common goal." The group nodded, showing the willingness and compliance he had come to expect from them. "Ezekiel, keep watch from here. I want to know about anything that goes on outside."

His young corporal nodded and disappeared from sight.

"The rest of you are with me. Hope for the best and expect the worst."

When he flew in, the seraph actually felt optimistic. He landed in the courtyard, closely followed by Bart's followers and his own.

Jehoel landed by a dilapidated stable with a whisper of wings. This only made Seraphiel more confident, hoping it was an indication of intended cooperation rather than the more likely possibility that his followers were concealing themselves.

Only when Seraphiel approached his brother did he respect just how intimidating his vessel was. It was fitting that a towering, muscle bound athlete would be the vessel of choice for the pompous angel as opposed to one that was actually compatible with him. The man he possessed appeared to be just about ready to burst.

"Jehoel, I trust you know why we came."

"Of course."

"We need to work together before this gets even more out of hand."

"Yes, I agree. With your forces I could easily eradicate the ferals once and for all."

Though not surprising, the brazen comment still shocked him. "No! They are still our family! We have to find Malachi, Bartholomew told me that he is the one leading them."

Jehoel just smiled coyly, as if he had expected the remark.

"You just don't get it." Seraphiel spun around to see Bartholomew step away from his followers. "You saw what they did to us and you're still bent on saving them. Did it even occur to you that maybe they can't be saved?"

"That is our family you're talking about." Always so casual on the subject. Despite his better judgment, Seraphiel had trusted Bartholomew and now he realized just how big of a mistake it was. The boy was completely out of touch with what he was talking about – he spoke of mass murder like it was nothing, like it was just another valid way to solve a problem.

"Look around you, Seraphiel! The ferals cannot be saved but you know who we can save? Everyone else."

"I could have left you there to rot and this is how you repay me?!" Seraphiel shouted.

"You saved me, yes, and I'm grateful but, this is bigger than both of us!"

"You outnumber us two to one, Seraphiel." Jehoel cut in. "And if you don't stop me right now I will kill every last feral myself. Kill a hundred to save a thousand? I can live with that."

"I won't let you."

"You won't have a choice."

"Stop!" Bartholomew interjected, giving Jehoel pause. "Let me talk to him." The younger angel trotted over to Seraphiel and spoke in hushed tones. "He will kill you and everyone you brought here. This is your chance to stop this once and for all. He will put an end to their suffering."

"I'll die trying to save them before I condone a massacre."

"Listen to me you suicidal old fool, this is us versus them, plain and simple. They can't be helped and they will never stop. If you just work with us we can put a stop to this here and now.

"So it's _us,_ is it?" Seraphiel pushed him out of the way. "I won't waste my breath trying to make you understand."

"Nor will I." Bartholomew responded as he slunk away.

With a flick of his wrist Seraphiel brandished his blade. "This is your last chance, Jehoel."

He didn't even flinch, instead the instability in his vessel seemed to shift, manifesting itself in white light coalescing on his palm.

It hit him suddenly, the realization of what he saw. It wasn't an ill-fitted vessel that was causing the air to seethe around Jehoel, it was souls. Human souls.

"What have you done?"

"I'm just following in our brother's footsteps. He may have lacked in vision and execution but, I won't." Jehoel just lifted his arm and the light became blinding. The air popped and crackled as the light overcame his vision and an instant later everything was silent.

Bartholomew shielded his eyes from the blast. He was expecting the roar of an explosion and an earthquake but instead, the silence remained. Everyone around him stared at the empty ground in front of Jehoel where the first seraph stood only seconds ago. All that was left of their brother was a fine red mist slowly settling to the ground where his vessel once stood.

* * *

They had been lying awake next to each other for quite some time. When he awoke earlier every muscle in his body protested further movement. It was cool in the room, a concrete bunker tended to follow the temperature of the surrounding land, and it was definitely a cold Kansas morning. Even under all the blankets, he was still uncomfortably cold.

Meg on the other hand, appeared to be having the opposite problem, she was only covered by the square sheet up to her waist and appeared to be uncomfortably hot - she had been occasionally sticking her leg out from under the cover.

"Do you like bring a demon?" It was an odd question but, one that he had wanted to ask for quite some time. She was hard to read – hard to know, really. Even if she was happy, he supposed he wouldn't really know what to look for.

"It's better than the alternative."

"Alternative?"

"Being dead."

"There is another alternative."

"Are we having the talk?" She mocked him.

"Are you trying to tell me you don't want to be redeemed?"

She turned her head to face him. "Pick your battles, angel. There isn't enough time before the sun explodes to redeem me for all the bad I've done." She returned to lying face up with her eyes closed.

"I've got time." When she groaned Cas placed a hand on her stomach, trying to keep her engaged. "There's good in you Meg."

"Just stop, Cas, I'm not going to be your charity case. Not all of us have a crippling, irrational drive to do penance for all the bad shit we've done."

"Then why help us? Why keep Crowley away from the Angel Tablet? Why help stop the Leviathans? Why protect me from Hester?" He ran his fingers along her porcelain skin. _Why get cured?_

She thought a moment before responding. "Because I need friends – I can't get revenge on Crowley on my own."

"Then, why fight so hard for revenge?" _Do you honestly expect me to believe this is all about Crowley?_

"You might as well question why we breathe Clarence." She opened her eyes and grasped Cas' hand, meshing her fingers with his. "If we stop breathing, we'll die. If we stop fighting our enemies – the whole world will die." She was clearly trying to make it sound like a crusade in the name of revenge but, it was transparent.

"That's an odd sentiment from a former servant of Lucifer"

"Priorities change." She pulled Cas' hand off her stomach, released it, and then rolled over to face away from him.

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind."

* * *

He found her in the common room, eating Dean's sugary cereal and flipping through the bible of all things. One of the newer revisions by the look of it.

"Meg?"

"Morning, Cas." She chirped, not taking her eyes off the book. "Have you read this thing? They cut out all the good parts, now it's just sappy stories about priests helping people. What happened to 'sell your cloak and buy a sword'?"

"I believe that was a metaphor." Cas recalled.

"Sure it was, choir boy."

He sat in the chair across from her. For a moment he just watched her eat, occasionally stopping to wrinkle her nose at something she read before flipping the page.

"I didn't have a chance to say before… that is I was too afraid to say before..." Cas trailed off in his anxiety, he had been putting off this particular apology for some time. He was concerned that the only reason she wasn't mad about it was because he hadn't brought it up, it was hard to justify risking it. Before he realized what he was doing he stood up and started fumbling with a book on the other table, facing away from her. When he gathered the courage to look at her, to stop concerning himself with the future, he saw Meg looking up at him. He managed to swallow his fear and find words. "I'm sorry about before. I never meant for you to get hurt."

She closed the bible but, didn't appear moved by the apology, to his relief. "What, did you think I was just going to sit pretty while you stared at maps until you went cross-eyed trying to find a bunker you had clearly forgotten?"

She smiled. God had he become fond of that smile. He wanted to just stop the conversation there, to stop going down this road that could lead nowhere good but, he couldn't. "I… Yes, I am sorry about that but, I meant at Sucrocorp last year."

Once the words were out he immediately wanted them back. Watching her realize what he just said paralyzed him; she took a sharp breath and closed one hand into a fist, it looked like she was restraining herself. When she stood up he felt something grip his heart, it felt as if his rib cage was shrinking.

"Oh."

"I, that is we, should have –" He sputtered.

"It's okay, Cas." She breathed out slowly before continuing. "Would you believe me if I said it wasn't the worst century of my life?"

Cas stepped toward her and placed his hands on the sides of her hips, holding her close. She seemed to actually appreciate his attempt to comfort her this time, she actually leaned into him.

"I wish you didn't have to do this."

"What can I say, I'm not one for riding the pine."

"What if you were in a devil's trap? Or the demonic handcuffs? Sam could cure Crowley and…" He trailed off, realizing how ridiculous he must sound. _I can't lose you again_.

She stepped back. "Stop. Just stop. Don't turn this into a goodbye because it ain't." There was a tinge of frustration in her posture and tone but, when she spoke again she sounded sincere. "Just, be there when he cures me, okay?"

"I can't promise that." He wanted to. He wanted to tell her that everything and everyone was going to be okay in the end; that they would both make it back alive. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't shake the dreadful feeling that something terrible was going to happen to them.

"Do it anyway."

Cas hugged her tight and rested his head on hers. "I promise."

"You're not exactly thrilled about this, huh?"

"Why would this excite me?"

"I figured you'd want me cured. No more abomination to explain to the parents."

"You're not an abomination."

"I recall you using that exact word to describe me."

"As I recall you appreciated it." She shivered when he ran his hand up her back and leaned in for a kiss.

"Smartass."

Dean barged in with Sam in tow. "Get a room you two" The older hunter reveled in his own wit for a few seconds before he came to a realization. "Actually, don't."

She pulled away and Cas released her. "Relax Dean, your furniture isn't durable enough anyway."

"That's just gross." Dean quipped.

Sam cleared his throat before speaking "It's about time we got going, Meg." He turned to his brother.

"Sure thing, Moose." She pecked Cas on the lips before following Sam to the door.

"You know what, no. I'm not going to pretend I'm okay with this." Dean started to walk toward the door but Cas stopped him.

"Dean, you have to stay here. I'll need you for the spell."

"But, what about Sam?"

"Relax, Dean." To Cas' surprise, Sam actually narrowed his eyes at his older brother. "I don't need a chaperone."

Dean's face contorted but, to the surprise of everyone in the room he managed to swallow his doubt. "Just… be careful Sammy."

"Yeah." Sam lingered a few seconds before following Meg out of the common room and toward the front door.

Dean turned to Cas. "So what do you need me for?"

"Come with me. We need to make preparations. Also, I'll need you to keep a foot in the door, so to speak."

Cas brought Dean to the _Spell Kitchen_ as Sam had so eloquently termed it, where he had left the angel's grace.

"So what, you need me to help with the finger-painting?"

"No. If anyone else touches it I won't be able to go through the portal."

"Then why do you need me here?"

"I don't. I just couldn't let you go with Sam and Meg."

Dean's voice became hostile the instant those words left Cas' mouth. "What? Why?"

"Because Sam isn't going to be coming back from this one."

"Damnit Cas! He's my brother!" He looked like he had intended to rant but, he took a breath and stopped.

"Sam agreed to it. You know he wants this but, you think if you go with him that you'll be able to catch him when he's weak and convince him to give up." Cas paused to observe the shock in Dean's face. "I'm older than the ground we stand on Dean, did you really think you could fool me?"

"You're okay with this? Hasn't he died for you enough?"

"This was his choice. He isn't like you, Dean, he will always choose freedom over safety."

* * *

**Author's Note: I'm back :D**

**Two more chapters left in this part of story - are you excited? **

****Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated. ****


	6. Chapter 5: Redemption

**Author's Note: Back from Hiatus. If you want more frequent updates, consider reviewing :)**

"Why are you doing this?" Sam asked. He slammed the truck door behind him. It had been a long quiet drive between the two of them, Sam was obviously preoccupied with his own mortality and Meg wasn't interested in discussing his feelings in the slightest.

She hopped out of the truck. "Why do you think? It's high time someone closed hell forever if a knight from the days of Cain is walking the Earth and I'm sure as hell not getting stuck down there." Meg tried to play dumb with him.

"I think you saw your opportunity to get out and you took it." Sam put his hands in his pockets and walked toward the entrance of the church. It was always cold out here but, today was especially unforgiving.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on. You told me."

She didn't have an excuse planned for him. "The prospect of being beaten to death by Crowley may have made me say some things I didn't mean literally."

"That's the best you can come up with?" Sam smiled to himself. "Honestly, I kind of get it."

Meg glared at him for a few seconds before she changed the subject. "I don't like churches." She was taking long strides, mostly to keep up with Sam. She was ambivalent about the task she volunteered for but, anxious to get it over with.

"Really? A demon that doesn't like churches?" Sam's gait was rigid, it was apparent he didn't want to be there either.

The church was an unremarkable stone building, if it weren't for the cross at the roof's apex and the stained glass windows it could have been a medium sized home. Meg wasn't used to humble chapels, having spent most of her time in cities in the last few decades. She recalled an enormous church back in Texas in particular, this dingy old chapel could have fit in the coat room.

"Huh, I wouldn't have thought you did either, weren't you in a church when you released Lucifer?" She smiled mischievously.

Sam's cheek twitched but, he didn't respond. He approached the door and forced it open, the wood was old and had expanded - that is assuming it ever fit in the first place. The smell was unlike anywhere else; a combination of old blood, damp wood and mold.

"This place smells, why couldn't we do this somewhere nicer?" She wrinkled her nose in protest.

"Because this is out of the way, no one is going to wander in while we're in the middle of something."

"Oh yeah, speaking of." She followed him into the vestibule. "How exactly do you cure a demon? That seems like something I should have known before volunteering, selflessly."

Sam smiled briefly. "Well, I'm going to go confess and ask for forgiveness for freeing Lucifer and then you're going to get 8 needles of my blood jabbed into your neck, one an hour."

Meg grimaced. "Shit."

"Yeah, well. Too late to change your mind now." It was Sam's turn to be unsympathetic.

"Shut up. Let's get this show on the road."

"Alright, I'll go confess, you can get the irons from the truck."

Meg rolled her eyes and complied. She turned to the door to leave but, stopped briefly when she saw the blood on the floor and the two broken windows. Considering her reputation, Abaddon really didn't put up much of a fight.

The outside air was refreshing, even to Meg. Being in the middle of nowhere never appealed to her before, she could strain and still hear nothing but the wind. The chapel was tucked between a mountain and a marsh along a long, winding gravel road. The occasional tree dotted the landscape but, the ground was dominated by tall grass and marshland. It was odd, a place like this should be crawling with frogs, small mammals and insects but, as far as she could see and hear they were completely alone.

The truck was parked remarkably neatly considering the 'parking lot' was a loosely levelled lawn of gravel - it was almost perfectly perpendicular to the building. Sam even put the irons in the bed box in the back of the truck - as opposed to tossing them in the bed like any reasonable person would.

Meg hopped into the bed without lowering the tailgate - a practiced motion that never failed to impress Texans - the truck's suspension didn't even register her weight. The bed liner had been applied by someone of remarkable incompetence, some spots were a couple inches thick whereas in other spots there was a paper-thin layer of liner between her foot and the frame of the truck.

When she opened the bed box she was immediately underwhelmed by the size of the cuffs. She fantasized about biting through the chains just to see the look on Sam's face.

Meg jumped out of the bed after slamming the bed box, when she landed she sunk into the gravel – evidently the marsh extended under the parking lot. The mud that now coated her shoes stunk of long-dead fish.

Sam made his way back into the vestibule where he saw Meg spinning one end of the irons like a nun chuck. She let go when she saw him and the iron slammed into the floor with a cacophonous clatter that reverberated on the stone walls. He grabbed a chair from the corner of the room and stuck it in the middle of the orange devil's trap in front of the cross.

"Sit."

"You're chaining me down, Winchester?" Meg scoffed at the cuffs, they only had one set of 'demonic' irons so, heavy duty wrist irons would have to do.

After she sat down Sam retrieved the irons from the ground where Meg left them and approached her. He dropped one set to her left and knelt on her right to attach the other pair to the chair. The cool iron tickled Meg's wrists as Sam cinched them down.

"It was part of father Thompson's ritual." Sam replied, as if that were a real explanation. He grabbed the second pair off the ground.

"You may have me in a devil's trap." She looked at the left cuff Sam had just clasped. "But I can still…" She lifted her arm, snapping the chain like it was made of licorice. "Do that. I don't see the point." She smiled mischievously.

"Meg, seriously. Just. Stay down, okay?" Sam finished clasping the second paid of cuffs. "If you don't stay down I'll get a saline bag and make you stay down." He didn't react when Meg scoffed at his threat and returned to the truck for another set of irons.

Meg kicked her legs back and forth like an eager kid. "While you're out there, can you get me one of those beer hats?" She called after him while she smiled to herself. "Fill it with whiskey!"

The cross in front of her made her uncomfortable, not so much because it was frightening or disturbing, it was just repugnant. For whatever reason the person who erected this chapel decided to show Jesus' hands and feet but, nothing else on the cross. She smiled to herself, remembering all the exorcism movies showing demons that are absolutely crippled by the mere sight of a cross. To her it was just two planks of wood.

Sam returned with more irons. "Alright, I vote we get this started now, and therefore over with as soon as possible."

"Here here." She didn't like looking at Sam any more than she liked looking at the cross. His lips were bluish and he was very pale, and this wasn't just from the Winchester-anemia caused by the boys having to cut themselves twice a week. It looked more like hyperthermia, like he had a fever that he couldn't shake. His affinity for water and constant need to sit down only bolstered what she already suspected – that these trials were killing him from the inside out, even with that mysterious angel holding him together.

Sam cuffed her other arm to the chair, she didn't resist this time.

"Alright, hold still Meg." Sam walked over to the table beneath the cross and fished through his bag for a needle. He drew blood from his arm.

"Do you always talk so much?" She leaned her head to the side, exposing her neck.

Sam pulled the needle from his arm slowly and walked over to Meg. He held the side of her head with one hand, pushing it to the side slightly further. He brushed her hair out of the way with the side of his hand and gently jabbed her neck with the needle.

"Fuck!" Meg had never felt anything quite like this, Sam's blood diffused in her own across her head and upper body in seconds. After a minute it felt like her heart was pumping boiling water all over her body. It took all of her willpower not to just snap the chains holding her down and leave. She shook her head in reproach, realizing it was way too late to turn back now.

"Well, that sucked." She quipped.

Sam reflected on the pastor's videos, when the pastor cured his demon, he asked the demon how it felt when it ate the man's family. Sam hadn't really thought of what to ask Meg but, he didn't have to mull it over for long before a question came to mind.

"When you killed Ellen and Joe, how did it feel?"

She cocked her head, unsure to whom he was referring at first. "Were they those…" Sam nodded. "Oh, I remember those two. The little girls you brought to meet Lucifer. It was interesting - is that a feeling? I mean, I was surprised the pretty one could even be moved after the youngest dog made a snack of her kidney."

* * *

"That was unpleasant." Cas said to no one in particular.

He was transported to the common room of an opulent Victorian aristocrat. The room had shelves of books lining the walls, at some points as high as thirty feet and going on as far as he could see. The room was almost completely vacant of furniture, spare a ladder, a glass coffee table, and a knurled wood rocking chair in the corner of the room nearest Cas – which was occupied by Metatron.

Metatron didn't even look up at his arrival, as if he had been expecting the event. "Let me guess, you're going to use a spell _Sam_ learned from the men of letters to disable me, then you're going to cut my throat with your sword and take my grace?" Metatron spoke slowly, savoring each word. "Castiel, I really had hoped you would have made the connection – men of letters… the Writer… God's scribe... No? Oh well."

Metatron looked up from his book, locking eyes with Cas' best attempt at looking confident.

Cas felt a familiar ache in the pit of his stomach. _So he was expecting you, so what? That doesn't change anything. Use the scroll. _

"Before you ask, no. I can't return your grace. It's gone Castiel, it was consumed by the spell." His confident smirk was replaced with a look of disingenuous concern. "Tell you what. Since I like you so much, I won't banish you from this place right now."

Cas narrowed his eyes and stood fast. "Why would you be so generous?"

"Because, Castiel I like you, I really do. I could have just killed you but, I didn't. I told you to live in my kingdom and that I wanted to hear from you when your time is done – and I meant it." He pointed to a door behind Cas. "Open the door behind you and go back to earth. Tell Meg how you feel and live a long happy life with my blessing." He paused. "I will protect you from the other angels, Castiel. You have my word."

His offer was tempting, after all only a fool would attack someone who was expecting you - even after he offers a way out. But, if you asked almost anyone who knew him, they would confirm that Cas is a fool.

Cas turned toward the door but, instead of walking toward it he reached into his jacket and grabbed the scroll. Cas opened the scroll under his coat and started to mutter the incantation while walking slowly toward the door.

"What was that, Castiel?"

Apparently Metatron heard him, but perhaps not completely. Cas ignored him and continued the incantation, just a few more seconds.

"Castiel. Who are you talking to?" Metatron appeared beside him.

A second later the spell was done, Cas threw the scroll to the ground where it shattered like glass. As it shattered the room exploded with blue light, it was so bright Cas reflexively shut his eyes.

Metatron howled, Cas could feel him try to escape by flapping his wings but, it was no use.

With his eyes closed Cas reached for his blade.

* * *

She squirmed and resisted when Sam reached for her neck, she tried to push his hand away with her shoulder.

"Meg, relax. It will be over before you know it."

She tried to stop him. "Can we jus-"

Sam jabbed her in the neck with the speed and precision of a paramedic administering an Epi-pen.

Meg screamed at the top of her lungs, it reverberated throughout the chapel until it became a cacophony. She stamped her feet and thrashed in the chair. There was no source, no description for the pain anymore, it was just her nerves all screaming at her at once.

"When you killed Ellen and Joe, how di–"

"Fuck you!" She looked up at him, her eyes were bloodshot and red. She gritted her teeth angrily and cried out without parting her teeth. As her instincts screamed at her to find the source of her pain and kill it she instead retreated into her memories.

"How'd you find me?"

"I never lost you." There wasn't a trace of amusement on the angel's face. She could hardly hear him over the music blaring from the stereo.

They stood in a pricy hotel room in Cleveland - Meg wasn't as thrifty as Sam and Dean – she preferred to stay somewhere comfortable as opposed to unkempt motels. The queen sized bed was adorned with fine linens and the room was built around a large screen TV on the far wall; the room even had a balcony. She had been making her way out of the room to find some food when she was interrupted by a very particular kind of intruder.

_"__I will not bow, I will not break, I will shut the world away._

_I will not fall, I will not fade, I will take your breath away."_

She turned to the stereo and turned down the music. "Come back for more?" Once she realized why he was here she couldn't repress the impish smile that crept along her lips.

"No." He wasn't lying but, she could see through the old angelic poker face, something more than kissing a demon was bothering him.

Meg stepped back. "Those weren't Crowley's bones." She was wary of the only other reason the seraph would come visit her. It had seemed too good to be true, barely an hour ago they were all as good as dead at the hands of Crowley. Just when it looked hopeless Cas returned on a wing and a prayer with Crowley's bones in tow and saved the day. It was an odd time for her; even though he had taken the revenge that was rightfully hers, she was grateful just to know the smarmy dick was finally dead.

The angel tried to maintain a look of indifference at her realization but, a twitch in his jaw before he spoke betrayed him. "What makes you say that?"

"Don't play dumb with me. You're plotting something, Clarence. Something that's going to get you killed." It hadn't felt right, watching Crowley burn, she should have gotten some satisfaction getting her revenge vicariously through the angel. For over a year she had been fighting tooth and nail with Crowley's grunts vying for leadership, his fall should have been a triumph and yet it rang hollow.

She walked over to a recliner in the corner of the hotel room and sat, patting the armrest after she sat as if she were beckoning a dog. The angel didn't follow initially, instead opting to stand silently while brooding about something, presumably whether he would kill her or not.

After watching him deliberate for almost a minute she decided not to wait for him to respond. "So, I know your secret and you haven't killed me yet – what's on your mind, Thursday?"

He appeared perturbed by the nickname, contorting his brows as if he was just addressed as a child. "You don't know anything – and it's going to stay that way." Of all the times he had threatened her, she knew the tone quite well and there was something off that time; his voice wasn't really threatening, it more resembled a parent cautioning a child.

"Crowley will screw you over. It's what he does." She gritted her teeth and repressed the urge to yell. She wanted to grab him, to shake him and yell at him until he would just listen to her. _Crowley is a smarmy, slimy, slippery sonofabitch who will stop at nothing to rule heaven, hell and everything in between_. _Any deal he makes is one that he has already loaded in his favor, every contract fraught with loopholes he can exploit and every mutually beneficial arrangement is designed to be upended at a moment's notice._ It troubled her that the Winchesters were obviously completely in the dark about his plan; why wouldn't he tell them?

"I can handle Crowley." He looked angry with himself after saying that – it was as if he didn't realize she already knew.

Meg sat patiently, observing the troubled angel. He stood in silence for almost a minute before speaking up.

"I've never seen anything quite like you."

"I could say the same about you, Thursday." She leaned back in the chair. It was always obvious when he was looking at her real face – and every time it made her uncomfortable. She recalled him staring at her like this back in that circle of holy fire.

"I mean... There's so much pain, twisted into anger. You're cruel, selfish, and violent… and yet-" he didn't finish the sentence.

She cocked her head. "Well shucks Clarence, you sure know how to sweet talk a gal."

"That's not what I mean, I-" he stopped.

Meg blinked slowly but didn't speak. She rose from her seat and approached the angel, paying special care to looking deep into those impossibly blue eyes of his.

"Don't." His tone was defensive but, at the same time he was eyeing her up and down.

She closed the distance between them. When she reached him she stopped in front of him and grabbed either side of his trench coat between her thumb and index finger. Looking up at him she saw that he was trying to pry his gaze from hers, fighting himself. So she toyed with the angel, running her fingers along the roughly spun fabric of his coat.

Suddenly and without warning Cas grabbed her by the shoulders, whirled her around and pushed her hard against the wall of the hotel room. He paused with his face only inches from hers, studying her intently. His breathing was calm and serene but, in his darting eyes she could see his uncertainty. He was very consciously avoiding looking her in the eye but his eyes would linger at times; he was puzzling over something.

Meg closed her eyes and breathed in slowly, the unmistakable scent of ozone wafted into her nostrils as she was savoring the shock of the impact and the pressure with which he held her against the wall. His strength reminded her just how powerful he had become since they first met, she could tell he was seething underneath the passionate gesture. She responded by arching her back and pushing herself up against him. "Don't leave me hanging, Clarence." She pursed her lips for an instant before smiling and tilting her head, bringing her eyes closer to his.

He looked her in the eye briefly before he released her and stepped back. "I shouldn't have done that."

Meg leaned back against the wall and rolled her eyes. "Then why are you here? I'm not going to forgive you for having to smite me."

"I'm not here to kill you."

She clenched her fists in mounting frustration. "Then what? You're an open book, Feathers, you're compelled to smite everyone like me but you're conflicted because I give you a happy feeling in your pants. Therefore you have to kill me or risk being compromised by an _abomination_."

"I'm _not_ here to kill you."

She couldn't contain her anger any more. "Then why are you here?!" Meg almost started to yell at him again while he stood there like a slack jawed oaf but, before she had a chance their eyes met. With only a twitch of his eyes as warning he lunged at her, just as vioelently as before, pinning her to the wall. He pressed against her with his hips and held her arms outstretched against the wall. They locked eyes for a moment and she managed to lift her right arm off the wall but, without looking Cas slammed it into the drywall so hard it dislodged a picture frame nearby. His kissed her forcefully, crushing their lips together like their lives depended on it. She returned the kiss with what was anger only seconds before. Without consciously realizing it she let her arms go limp, surrendering control to the angel.

After a few seconds he let go of her arms and began pulling at her jacket, she shrugged her shoulders in compliance and began unbuttoning his coat. He released her for a moment, stepped back, and let his coat fall to the floor before he grabbed fistfuls of her shirt and pulled it upward. He held her arms above her head and pulled the shirt up until the collar came past her nose at which point he stopped. She tried to pull her shirt upward, wriggling against his grasp but he held her arms against the wall. After some squirming she blindly nipped at him, managing to make contact with his cheek.

"To warn you." He kissed her briefly before he pulled her shirt off and tossed it to the side.

She leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms defensively over her bra. "About what?"

"Stay out of this. Please." He looked hesitant for a moment when he saw the scars across her stomach. "Be safe."

With a flap of his wings he was gone.


End file.
